Resolution
by tlyxor1
Summary: One does not walk from a near death experience unchanged. It's no wonder, then, when after two action packed years, it's a very different Harry Potter who arrives for his third year at Hogwarts School. new classes, new friends and a very new outlook on life, the Boy Who Lived was always meant for greatness. PoA AU. OOC.
1. Chapter 1

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary:** One does not walk from a near death experience unchanged. It's no wonder, then, when after two action packed years, it's a very different Harry Potter who arrives for his third year at Hogwarts School. new classes, new friends and a very new outlook on life, the Boy Who Lived was always meant for greatness. PoA AU. OOC.

**Rating:** T for mild language and violence, and eventual adult themes.

**Author:** tlyxor1.

**Resolution**

**Chapter One: ** **August 17th - 18th**

It was with a sigh of almost-relief that Harry Potter walked out of number 4, Privet Drive, determined not to look upon his relatives' ugly mugs ever again. In his wake, he left an _inflated_ Marge Dursley and the house's three permanent residents in a panic, but as he trekked down the street, with his faithful trunk (an heirloom) trotting along beside him, Harry couldn't find it in himself to regret his actions, unintentional as they may be. Marge had been asking for it, and he wondered if she'd ever heard of the term 'respect for the dead', and he scoffed to himself, doubtful that the oversized whale wouldn't know respect if it up and bit her in the arse. He could say the same for his relatives, in all actuality, and not for the first time, Harry wondered how the bloody hell he could be related to people so damnably _awful_.

All the same, he had far greater concerns than the chaos he'd left behind, and the perpetual question of his relation to the odious Dursleys, and so Harry settled himself at the bus stop on Magnolia Crescent, carted a hand through sable coloured hair and thought over his options, minimal as they were at this time of night. He'd just been kicked out of Privet Drive, and he'd left without regrets, but that particular decision left some gaping issues that needed to be addressed immediately, chief among them the issue of where he would stay until September.

It was a midsummer night, the air was warm, and the streets were quiet. Nothing ever happened at Privet Drive, excepting Dudley and his idiot gang, so Harry had no particular qualms about relaxing as best as possible on the uncomfortable bench, with only a flickering lamppost and a bedraggled, miserable looking stray for company.

It seemed oddly fitting that he would end up in the presence of a creature that, like Harry himself, had nowhere to go. He wondered idly if the dog had once had a home, a family that had loved him, or if he, too, had run away from people who hadn't wanted him, but he pulled himself back to the matter at hand, stopped searching for symbolism where there wasn't any, and began to brainstorm instead.

As Harry contemplated his next course of action, however, and the stray dog watched him from across the street, a conversation he'd heard the year before between Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, two boys in his dorm, came to mind, of a form of magical transport that required only a wand and some sickles to utilise. Harry, fortunately, was resourceful enough to always carry a small supply of muggle and magical cash and coin on him no matter the occasion, so without adieu, he got to his feet, withdrew his wand and summoned the Knight Bus to his current location with a pleased, fleeting grin.

The Knight Bus appeared with a thunderous crack akin to the sound of a car backfiring, an obnoxiously purple, triple-decker monstrosity that Harry could only stare at in shock, awe and a little bit of horror. He was, however, interrupted in his gawking by the presence of the bus conductor, a pimply faced boy just barely out of his teens, dressed in a purple velvet suit that looked like it had just stepped out of the seventies, flared trousers, platform shoes, rhinestones and all. His eyes reminded Harry of a raccoon's, his skin was sallow and it looked as though the bloke hadn't seen the sun in years, but he withdrew some palm cards from an inner pocket and began to recite a greeting, entirely monotone for all the lack of enthusiasm put into the task.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. my name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this evening."

"Hullo," Harry greeted, "I have to get to Diagon Alley, but I don't want to go through the Leaky Cauldron. Do you have any solutions?"

Harry had established it was his best bet at staying under the radar. Adults in the muggle world would question the presence of a minor without any guardians, but as Harry had observed in his two years exposed to the place, children in the magical world were treated something like those in the muggle industrial era, workplace issues and all. If he managed to successfully pull off the ruse of a nameless, faceless orphan until September,than all the better for him. Unfortunately, Tom, the innkeeper at the Leaky Cauldron knew his face, so taking that entry was simply out of the question. It was entirely predictable as well, and no way did Harry want to deal with any questionably-intended adults tonight - or ever, come to think of it.

"Alrigh," Stan agreed, "It'll be 'leven sickles though, thirteen if you want a toothbrush an' a 'ot chocolate."

Harry forked over eleven sickles, stepped onto the bus and ensured his enchanted trunk followed him on, with only a glimpse behind him at the dog that had disappeared out of sight. He settled onto the bed offered to him, took hold of the bedpost and wasn't particularly surprised when the health and safety hazard took off with a wrench of dislocated air and an accompanying, preposterously loud, '_boom_'. He muttered an inaudible oath under his breath, clutched onto the bedpost for dear life and thanked all the Gods he knew and didn't believe in when he arrived at his destination alive and in one piece.

"That was a bloody nightmare," harry muttered to himself, when the Knight Bus was well and truly out of sight, but didn't dwell on the experience. instead, he entered the seedy looking pub the bus had deposited him in front of - The Ugly Wench - and approached the bartender whom, impossibly, looked even older, and even more cantankerous, than Tom. Harry's trunk trailed along behind him, but as the boy wizard came to a stop by the grubby looking bar, he focused his attention on the grizzled old wizard behind it.

"Excuse me, sir, I was hoping to rent a room until September. Do you have any available?"

The wizard scrutinised Harry for a moment, nodded with a grunt and opened up the booking ledger. He penned Harry's details without question, false name and all, handed over a heavy brass key and directed the teen to a stairway in the back of the pub. Harry nodded his thanks, headed upstairs and was not surprised to find that the upper part of the inn was as grimy as the bar and common area. After two years of exposure to the magical world, it was almost expected by that point, but as Harry reached his room, stepped inside and looked around, he couldn't bring himself to care. It was as unlike Privet Drive as humanly possible, and for that, Harry was almost of the opinion that it was the best thing since sliced bread and thus, he was not going to complain.

Harry's temporary room was comfortably sized, with a twin sized four poster, aged mahogany furnishings and an attached bathroom. It had a view over Lester Square, but Harry didn't have much of a fascination for London's city lights, and so he readied himself for bed, clambered beneath the bedcovers and threw an arm over his eyes with a weary groan. He'd plan out everything in the morning, but for the moment, harry was tired, it had been a long day and he was ready for some well-deserved rest that he'd, typically, not received at _home_.

Harry gave a derisive scoff at the thought that he would _ever_ consider Privet Drive home, rolled over in his bed and not for the first time, thought over everything he knew about his own history. it was a pitiful amount, but it was something, and it _would_ become more - Harry would make sure of it.

Fact One: He was a wizard, with parents who were a wizard and a witch respectively. His paternal grandparents had been too and presumably, their parents had been as well, so on and so on. His maternal grandparents had been muggles and aside from his mother, all of his relations on his mother's side were similarly non-magical, thus making Harry himself a 'halfblood'.

Fact Two: His parents had left him a trust fund. Since it was _only_ a trust fund, Harry could assume that there was more of an inheritance awaiting him for when he came of age or some such, but he would have to make contact with the goblins at Gringott's to really be certain about that.

Fact Three: They'd been targeted by Voldemort in 1981, had been betrayed and consequently murdered, which somehow resulted in Voldemort's destruction and Harry's survival. Harry didn't know _why_ they had been targeted, but he was aware that his parents had been aware of it, given the fact that they'd been in hiding since shortly after his birth.

Harry sighed to himself, rolled over in his bed once more and stared up at the velvet canopy overhead. He'd shut his bed hangings earlier, and they successfully muffled the sounds of London's nightlife from down in the street, but lost in his thoughts, Harry hardly noticed. He thought about his parents, whom he'd only had fifteen measly months with, thought about what they'd been like as individuals and as a pair, and longed for a life in which Voldemort had never come to his home that Halloween night.

Harry closed his eyes with a huff of silent, bitter laughter, and quietly murmured, "Can anybody find me… somebody to love?"

Then he shook himself, thought about his coming year at Hogwarts and fell asleep, certain to put his orphan-esque angst behind him. His parents were dead, he'd never be able to change that, and there was no use crying over spilt milk. And so Harry dreamt of a normal school year and when he woke, he silently prayed that such a dream could come to pass. With his luck, however, or alleged lack thereof, it wasn't likely. Peace, it seemed, was simply a commodity he would never know, but it was something Harry could live with.

He didn't have much of a choice, really, because Voldemort was determined not to just _drop dead_ and as long as they both still lived, Harry was almost certain that Voldemort would not stop hunting him - or all of the wanker's faithful servants, for that matter.

It had been a, frankly grounding, revelation he'd had at the end of his last school year, while recovering from his near fatal encounter with Slytherin's basilisk and the shade of a young (and relatively sane) Tom Riddle. Harry had since resolved to be as prepared for his next, inevitable, encounter with the halfblood hypocrite, but in order for that to be accomplished, however, Harry had a lot to do and not enough time to do it in. Harry couldn't say when Riddle would return, and the boy wizard doubted that old mate would wait for Harry to be ready for him

Voldemort had an unknown amount of money, servants, 'allies' and magic at his disposal, not to mention over fifty years of experience, and Harry had only two years of magical learning under his belt and the measly promise of a few more. So far, his survival had hinged on a great deal of luck, Voldemort's arrogance and the timely arrival of Dumbledore, or his phoenix, and That needed to change, among other things. .

First thing's first though, Harry needed breakfast. After all, through everything, he was still just a growing boy, and he had the appetite to prove it.

**Author's Note:** Just a head's up that I'm blind, so I'm likely to misspell some homophones and Potterisms, so please bear with me. If I get any wrong, just let me know, and I'll endeavour to correct it. Otherwise, if you've read this far, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for reading, drop me a line, and tell me your thoughts. Until next time,-t.


	2. Chapter 2

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Two: August 18th**

Over an admittedly substandard breakfast of burnt bacon and runny eggs, toast and fried potato, as he inhaled several mugs of tea like the drink was going out of style, Harry read about the breakout at Azkaban without any real interest on his part. It was curious the wizard, Sirius Black, was allegedly off his rocker, more so that it had also been reported on the muggle news, but Harry had his priorities and no matter how strangely _familiar_ those dead grey eyes were, Sirius Black wasn't one of them.

A mass murdering lunatic wasn't any of his business (at least one that wasn't named Tom Riddle) and so Harry, other than a mental note to be on his guard, didn't dwell on the issue any more than he absolutely had to. He'd learned the hard way to keep out of business that wasn't his, and the sooner the appropriate authorities resolved the issue, the better.

"I have to head into the Alley," Harry informed the cantankerous bartender, whose name Harry had not bothered to learn the night before, and something he'd still not learned that morning, "Can you tell me how I go about doing tthat, sir?"

With a sigh, as though the effort pained him, the wizard begrudgingly rattled off a string of instructions, and while Harry inwardly wondered about wizarding hospitality and customer service, and particularly the lack thereof, he outwardly nodded his thanks and retreated into the back of the pub and to the empty alleyway behind it. There were a few rusted rubbish bins, and a painfully thin scavenger cat, but Harry was otherwise alone as he approached the brick wall parallel to the back door. he tapped the requisite bricks (four up, three across, seven diagonal) and an archway formed from the shifting bricks, to open into a brick wall by the entry to Knockturn Alley.

Harry eyed the gloomy pathway curiously, but shook himself - _priorities_ - and determinedly made his way to Gringott's, his footsteps quick, his heart rate quicker. There had been a time when he'd been terrified of Knockturn and all that it represented, but a year had certainly changed Harry in more ways than one, and though Knockturn now represented something entirely different to him, he had plans and the boy wizard was determined to see them through. The time to explore could wait and he'd prefer it if his answers did not.

The bank was as grand and ostentatious as Harry remembered it, though he'd truly not expected anything else, but as he stepped in line to await an empty teller, his gaze wandered, to the security goblins, to the carvings on the walls, to the marble art on the ceiling and floor. The entire building was an artistic masterpiece, but Harry wasn't much of an artist and so he couldn't appreciate it beyond the fact he recognised it was a rather pretty sight. Either way, a teller became available and Harry approached the goblin quickly, certain not to waste any time with pleasantries. In his last two, albeit brief, visits at the bank, he'd observed that the goblins abhorred time wasters, and Harry had no desire to be perceived as such an individual.

"I would like to know about my accounts, if at all possible," Harry requested as he fluidly slid over his vault key. "I know nothing beyond the existence of my trust vault, and I want to fix that."

The goblin gave one sharp nod, barked at another goblin in their own, guttural tongue and gestured for Harry to follow the latter. Harry obeyed without protest,his vault key a cool comfort against the skin of his closed fist, and the goblin led the way through a series of winding passageways until they were stood in front of a simple, nondescript door and Harry was, naturally, well and truly lost. .

The goblin knocked once with the pommel of a knife he seemed to procure from nowhere, there came a rumbled reply from within the room and Harry was none too gently ushered inside. The door was shut with an ominous click behind him, but Harry had already turned his attention to his new surroundings, a simple office with simplistic decor and a white haired goblin seated behind a simple desk, upon which was strewn haphazard piles of parchment, discarded quills and inkwells, a silver bowl full of precious gems and a few loose galleons, sickles and knuts.

"Mister Potter, I am Flintlock. What may I do for you today?"

"I wanted to know about my accounts," Harry answered, "I figured that since I only have access to a _trust_ vault, there was more to it, and its time I learned about it."

The goblin nodded his acknowledgement, gestured for Harry to take a seat across from him and proceeded to rifle through a desk drawer full of files. Harry waited in silence as when the goblin withdrew what he was searching for, he cleared his desktop, opened the file on the vacated space and began to read through its contents.

"Most Potter vaults have been frozen since November 1st, 1981, with the exception of your vault for Investment Dividends and Royalty deposits, the investment vault your father left for you, as well as your trust fund. Do you wish to have your accounts unfrozen once again?"

"That would mean I'd have to manage them, right?"

"Yes."

"In that case, no thank you," Harry answered, "I think I'd like to learn about estate management before I do that. Can I have a list of my assets though?"

The goblin provided a five sectored booklet bound in maroon leather without a word, and Harry accepted it with a quiet thanks.

"I've also included a file with the details of your investment vault." You may read through it at your own leisure."

With a nod of acknowledgement, Harry thanked the goblin and retreated from the office, not particularly surprised to find a goblin escort awaiting him. Harry was guided back to the lobby, from which he returned to The Ugly Wench, settled in a private booth and ordered himself a morning tea of chips and gravy and butter beer. He opened his ledger while he waited and began to read the overview, only to slam it shut with a pale face and a boggled mind.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered, "No wonder Ron is such a jealous prat."

After his meal, Harry took a bracing breath, opened up to the overview and began to read once again. It was overwhelming, certainly, but Harry successfully managed to get through it in one sitting - the overview, that is - and he began to make some more plans for his last two weeks of summer. He had an unprecedented amount of freedom for the next fourteen days, and Harry had absolutely no intention to waste it. He'd fortunately already completed all of his summer homework to a standard Hermione would be proud of - there wasn't much else to do at Privet Drive but chores - but as Harry contemplated the possibility of finding himself a healer, something else came to mind.

With his things in hand, Harry hurried upstairs and into his rented room, reached his trunk and rifled through the pile of his textbooks for his last two years of school. He found what he was looking for, flicked through his second year Potions textbook and settled on a dogeared page he'd found during his pre-readings the school year prior. a nutritional potion, created specifically to counteract the effects of malnourishment.

It was exactly what he needed.

With a pleased grin, Harry gathered up his satchel again, returned to Diagon Alley and sought out an apothecary that _didn't_ look like the biohazard that was Slug and Jigger's. He found it down Offische Alley, a clean, organised shop titled 'Belladonna', with a young looking store clerk stocking shelves and a few customers wondering the aisles.

Harry approached the counter where an aged witch was tending to a potion in a palm sized cauldron. He waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, and when she did, Harry offered her a smile.

"Hello, ma'am. I wondered, do you do special orders?"

"It depends on the order," she replied, "What did you want brewed?"

Harry opened up his textbook to the appropriate page and showed her the potion. A look of fleeting sadness crossed her features, but she nodded and gave him an understanding smile.

"It will take me three days. The cost is a galleon.."

She offered him an order form, Harry filled it out - with another false name - and accepted the copy she handed to him. With a nod of thanks, Harry passed over two gold coins without hesitation, took a step back and spoke with a smile.

"I'll come pick it up in three days. Thank you, ma'am."

"I'll see you then, Mr Brown."

Harry returned to the Ugly Wench, settled at the bar and ordered himself a club sandwich and some gillywater for lunch. As he did, Harry took a long glance around the common area, and wondered at the patrons present. There were two hags in a corner, and a trio of hooded unknowns in another. An old man was smoking a pipe at the other end of the bar, and at a table in the middle of the room, there was a quartet of rowdy businessmen well into their pints of ale.

The place didn't seem so lively as the Leaky Cauldron, but without much natural lighting, and the dim glow of candlelight the pub's only illumination, perhaps that was inevitable.

Either way, Harry's food arrived and his attention turn to eating it as quickly as possible, ravenous despite himself. When he was done, he returned to his room and was not surprised to find Hedwig there, a missive bound to her talon. It was from Professor McGonagall, a response to a letter he'd sent her earlier in the week. She'd approved his request to transfer from Divination into Ancient Runes and from Care of Magical Creatures to Arithmency, as well as his request to start the optional Saturday classes of Economics, Estate Management, Legal Studies and Deportment. Neville had recommended that Harry take them, and since the timid boy had gone out of his way to inform Harry, the green eyed Gryffindor figured that Neville had a reasonable justification for Harry to do so. They would take up a lot of his free time, but if they benefited him in the future, than Harry wouldn't protest..

Harry had a smile on his face when he'd finished reading the letter and without adieu, he penned a reply, thanking his head of house and what have you. He tied it to Hedwig's talon, and instructed her to rest up before she headed back to Scotland. Afterwards, he picked up his booklist, settled himself on the edge of his bed, scanned through its contents and considered the texts he'd have to purchase for the following year.

The textbooks for Astronomy, herbology and History of Magic remained the same, but he'd upgraded to the third edition books for Charms, Transfiguration and Potions. Defence Against the Dark Arts had new textbooks as well, not to mention the introductory texts for Ancient Runes, Arithmency, and his four optional classes on Saturdays. It would cost a fair bit, but Harry had just learned that he had a great deal of gold to spare, so they were purchases he didn't mind procuring.

The gold made him somewhat uncomfortable, in all actuality, but it was something Harry recognised he would have to get used to, because unless some sort of colossal travesty occurred, the wealth wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

That said, it made his life, and certain things within it, infinitely more convenient, and Harry intended to take distinct advantage of that fact. He was the last Potter, to his knowledge, and it wasn't as though he had anyone else to worry about. And so Harry planned away, and that was that.


	3. Chapter 3

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Three: August 18th - 19th**

In the book store that afternoon, Harry was about to approach the counter with his assigned school books in hand, when it occurred to him that he could always use some more texts to supplement those assigned by his teachers. In essays past, he'd been encouraged to add more reference materials to support his thesis statements, but always with something more interesting to hold his attention, Harry had never been particularly inclined to do so.

This admittedly lazy attitude had been exacerbated by Ron and Hermione, the latter of whom couldn't tolerate being second best, and the former of whom couldn't tolerate being overshadowed. There was also the poor habits he'd acquired during primary school, dumbing himself down to avoid unwelcome attention from his teachers and relatives, and so Harry had simply settled for mediocrity, despite knowing that he could and should have done better.

He'd changed though,, which generally happened after a few too many death defying adventures, and so with a thoughtful hum, and the mental reminder of his resolve to do better, to be ready, Harry settled his basket at the end of the Charms aisle, and began what would be a long few hours of skim reading.

Other books joined the growing stack in his basket, spell books, fictional books, factual books, until the basket was full, Harry's eyes were tired and his head was clogged, full of information that he'd not really registered but figured was probably good to know anyway. A dragon's blood was toxic without being purified first, there were several breeds of elves, and Knocktern Alley was magical Britain's red-light district, more than anything else, where debauchery was had and where the Ministry of Magic turned a blind eye to the socially unacceptable, oftentimes illegal, happenings therein.

He was curious about what else he didn't know, and was eager to learn.

With a grunt of effort, Harry hauled the basket onto the front counter, gave the elderly cashier a rueful grin and queried, "Any chance you can make the bag feather light, sir?"

"Of course, lad," he answered, "Why so many books?"

Harry shrugged nonchalantly, fished out his Gringott's cash card and answered, "Supplemental texts, mostly, but others are just interesting."

The old wizard rang up Harry's purchases, Harry paid and took the lightened bag with a grateful thanks and he left the store, headed back to The Ugly Wench to deposit his newest purchases inside his magical trunk.

Inside his room at the inn, Harry opened up his book compartment, stored his new purchases within and watched, curious, as the magic of the trunk automatically sorted them into order by subject and author. The trunk itself had been a gift from (and made by) his grandparents when Harry was born, and apparently it's features were a marvel, but as Harry checked off another cross on his to-do list, he recognised that it would take him a long time to be able to recreate something like it. He found himself excited for the possibilities, and Harry threw himself into his pre-readings, suddenly enthusiastic to learn as much as he could in a way he hadn't been since before his first year at Hogwarts, where he'd met Ron, and had come upon an adventure that had nearly killed them both.

When dinner time rolled around, Harry descended into the pub's common area, ordered himself a cottage pie, some water and chips, settled himself in an out of the way corner, and was surprised when the aged clerk from Flourish and Blott's settled across from him, genial smile on his face and a pint of ale in hand.

"Good evening, sir," Harry greeted politely, "Did you have a pleasant afternoon?"

"Aside from those monstrous books the new Hogwarts professor for Creatures has assigned, i did."

"I saw those," Harry acknowledged, "Seems like an interesting bloke, if the books are anything to go by."

'Perhaps," he conceded, "Though I do wonder about how far Hogwarts has fallen, what with Potions, and History, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Now this? It's rather concerning. Why, in my day…"

Harry was initially inclined to lash out in protective defence of his beloved Hogwarts, but before he did, he took the opportunity to, as best as possible, objectively think about the school, what he'd learned and experienced there from the perspective of an outsider, or an alumni, as it were, and afterwards, he genuinely found Hogwarts lacking as an academic institute.

For the Gryffindor, who'd considered Hogwarts the first real home he'd ever had, it was disillusioning, and Harry didn't like the feeling.

"Do you think Hogwarts is the best school of magic there is?"

The elderly wizard, not quite ancient, but perhaps in his late nineties or his early centennial, released a loud, booming laugh, wiped at streaming brown eyes and pointed at Harry, as though the boy, or rather what the boy had said, was the funniest thing he'd ever heard in his life. Harry himself, rather perplexed by the response, wasn't sure how he should respond to that, and so he simply waited, and was not disappointed.

"Lad, Hogwarts hasn't been considered the best school of magic in decades. Who cares what our government tells us, Hogwarts is an embarrassment in the international community."

Harry solemnly nodded his acknowledgement, quietly ate his dinner and listened, attentive, as the old man reminisced about his own days at Hogwarts, where he'd been a Ravenclaw during the last years of peace before what he still called 'The Great War', despite the fact that it had long been recognised as 'World War I'. He moved onto stories about the four years he'd served in the British military, and Harry listened, enthralled, as he retold years of courage, and valour, of fear and despair. He wondered if that was what the war with Voldemort had been like, but dared not ask, correctly assuming that particular aspect of history was still far too fresh in the collective memory of magical Britain.

When the old man returned to his home for the night, Harry retreated into his rented room, settled back at the small desk provided and continued his pre-reading, with a journal at hand to write down important facts about the topic he currently studied. Harry had been working on his quill writing skills throughout the summer and in doing so, his handwriting had actually become something halfway decent, but the thirteen year old still had a long way to go to have a script that could at all pass for calligraphy. He was determined to improve though, so once he'd finished his most recent chapter of 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, Edition III', Harry withdrew an old piece of blank parchment, inked his quill and continued his practise until his hand cramped and the page was filled with muggle song lyrics, inane musings, and his thoughts on his Transfiguration pre-reading chapters.

Harry eventually grew tired and went to bed, but when he woke in the morning, and had eaten his breakfast, rather than return to his books, he instead returned to Diagon Alley, exchanged a bag full of galleons into pounds, and exited into London proper, and the typical, cloudy day therein.

From there, Harry purchased himself an oyster card, boarded the tube and exited on Oxford St, eager _not_ to put up with Dudley's hand me downs any longer. He wasn't particularly eager to shop for long though, and so in the first department store he found, Harry settled for with three pairs of jeans, three t-shirts and two button downs, a jumper, a blazer, some exercise clothes, trainers and loafers, all with some room for him to grow. he bought himself a set of winter pyjamas, enough toiletries to last him until the first Hogsmeade visit and returned to the Ugly Wench, purchases in hand.

After they were all suitably deposited into the appropriate trunk compartments, Harry binned the rubbish, carted his hands through his flyaway hair and thought over his last self-appointed task for the next two weeks. He'd left it until he had finished everything else because Harry had assumed rightly that it would be the hardest, and would take the longest, to complete. It involved finding out about his past, and his family's, and given that most everyone had avoided the topic like the plague, excepting the bare bones, anyway, for the two chaotic years they'd known him, Harry doubted information would be easily accessible.

Harry was resourceful though, he had _always_ been resourceful, just as much as he had always been stubborn, and determined, and absolutely _relentless_ in each and every one of his pursuits. This time would be no exception and in all actuality, he'd probably be more determined, and stubborn, and relentless than ever. After all, it was perhaps the most important undertaking he'd ever begun, and Harry would be damned if he failed. He wouldn't let himself.

Harry started at the most accessible, a trio of history books Hermione had once mentioned on that first train ride to Hogwarts, what seemed a lifetime ago now: 'Great Wizarding Events of the 20th Century', 'The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts' and 'Modern Magical History'. It was perhaps foolish, or optimistic, or both, of him to think there would be any information there, but it was worth a shot and aside from the ledger he'd been given at Gringott's, Harry was essentially shooting blind. It turned out though, that aside from the birth dates of his parents - March 27th and January 30th, respectively - Harry learned nothing new, and so he resorted to the ledger, not particularly sure of what he was looking for within it's pages.

Whatever it was, he was certain that it wasn't within the finances and investment sectors, and so he settled on the properties section, and began to scan through the overview that the ledger provided. It mainly just listed the property names, their locations, and their financial value, but as Harry predominantly focused on the properties located in Britain, his attention settled on a property in Mayfair, a townhouse, no doubt surrounded by commercial, and very few private, buildings. .

Close by and easy to access, Harry flicked to the page with more information on what was simply called 'The Mayfair House' and with a growing grin, learned that it was where his paternal grandparents had raised his father, James, if the dates of occupancy were anything to go by.

Mayfair itself had come a long way from the bustling market place it had once been, but as Harry learned that the house had been bought by Charlus and Dorea Potter in the late 50's, and had been empty since their move into Potter Manor - or Redridge Hall - in the late 70's, Harry's interest only grew

It would - hopefully - have more leads in the house itself and so with nothing better to do, and anxious for any sort of indication that he'd belonged somewhere, that he'd once had a family that was more than just a few photographs, names and dates, Harry pulled his shoes back on, gathered his satchel and left the Ugly Wench, once again headed for the nearest underground station. After all, he had a family, and a past, that he intended to learn all he could about and he didn't have the time to spare - not if he wanted answers before his return to Hogwarts, where he'd be under the perpetual scrutiny of critical students and similarly critical teachers, who would surely have something to say about Harry's search, and who would expect him to follow their suggestions, regardless of his own opinions. Indeed, he had hardly any time at all, and what little time he _did_ have, Harry had no intention to waste - not for anything in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Four: August 19th **

Mayfair was an area of central London, located east of Hyde Park and within the city of Westminster. Surrounded by Park Lane, Oxford St, Regent St and Piccadilly, it was one of the most expensive residential districts in London, though it was predominantly occupied by commercial buildings, and a few exclusive restaurants and boutiques. His relatives, on his Uncle Vernon's upper middle-class salary, could only _dream_ of living there, and Harry thought they might just _die_ to know he owned a house within the area.

Because Mayfair itself didn't have a tube station, Harry had had to disembark at Oxford St, and walk the rest of the way to his intended location. it had involved a map from the convenience store at the Oxford St station, but the weather was pleasant, and Harry was content to take his time. Then he reached the house, however, and rather than head straight up to the front door, he instead stood to take it all in, and tried to imagine his grandparents and father there, working in the yard, or walking through the door, or welcoming him home.

The house itself was on a block of similar townhouses, but it was unique in the sense that it looked untouched. The neighbouring homes had evidence of their inhabitants, toys and other such miscellaneous odds and ends, but as Harry approached the front walk, backpack slung on his shoulders and gaze fixed on the house he might have, in another life, called home, Harry's scrutiny was interrupted by one of the neighbours.

It was, surprisingly, someone he knew, and as Harry approached Justin Finch-Fletchly, he marvelled about the odds. London was home to however many million people, after all, and what was the likelihood of crossing paths with one of the very small minority of citizens that Harry had met?.

The Hufflepuff looked none the worse for ware in the wake of his brief stint as a statue, but he looked awkward, as though he wanted to say something but couldn't particularly find the words. Harry didn't really have anything to say either, but in the wake of his new resolution, he figured he might as well try.

"You reckon I'll find any squatters in there?" harry queried, after a brief exchange of pleasantries, and an even more brief explanation of their respective presences in Mayfair. As explained, Justin was spending the last two weeks of his holidays with his elderly relatives, and Harry, of course, was in search for answers.

Justin laughed and shrugged, and insisted Harry go find what he'd come looking for. He also made sure to make the Gryffindor promise to stop by when he was done, and after doing so, Harry bade the Hufflepuff a brief farewell, trod back onto the front walk and made his way onto the stoop of what should have still been his grandparents' home.

What had happened to them, Harry wondered, and why didn't he know? Why was everyone so opposed to informing Harry of he and his family's past?

Unsure of what to expect, and most certainly not prepared for it to be unlocked, Harry turned the door handle, felt it click beneath his hands and watched, curiously, as it swung open on it's own accord. It opened up to a small, brightly lit foyer, with an open doorway branching off into a cozy sitting room to the left, and a stairway that led upstairs in front of him,, bared right enough to allow for a hallway that led further into the house.

The hallway was tiled white ceramic, but all the same, Harry kicked off his shoes in the doorway, entered the sitting room and was unsure of what to expect.

The remnants of a massacre, perhaps. Or maybe the remnants of a happy family. Maybe the remains of what his grandparents had been doing the day they'd died.

He found none of that though.

All the personal effects had been moved, deposited in their rightful places. There was no scattered odds and ends, nothing to show that this place had once been a home, simply books in their shelves and photos in their frames. Cream walls, a tan carpet, with tan leather furnishings, polished oak accents and dark brown, blackout curtains.. The place was pristine, untouched… empty, like a photo from a homemaker catalogue, or a room in a home up for auction.

Above the mantle, there was a family portrait, one of those professional ones in which no one smiled. Two middle aged adults. Two brothers, two sisters, James Potter the youngest, the puppy fat on his face an easy tell, and a small plaque in the ebony frame. A small coat of arms, and the family name beneath it, the motto beside it and the names beneath that.

Charlus. Dorea. Henry. James. Callista. Celeste.

His _family_.

With a groan, Harry dropped into a tan leather arm chair, noted in the back of his mind the absence of dust, and rubbed at eyes that wouldn't stop streaming tears.

Honestly, Harry wasn't sure why he was crying. He'd already known that he was the last Potter left, with a legacy he couldn't comprehend and enormous shoes to fill, but he supposed he'd just never sat down and _grieved_ for all those whom he'd lost, or rather, all those whom he'd never had. So he sat, and he cried, and when he had no more tears to shed, he got back to his feet and continued to explore the house that might have been home.

The rest of the first floor was made up of a kitchen, a dining room and another sitting area, the doorway of which was in an alcove beneath the hallway's stairs. Another doorway led into a small half bathroom, while yet another guarded a staircase, at the bottom of which was an underground basement that _wasn't_ a potions lab, or a duelling room, or anything of the sort. It was simply storage, but rather than take the time to go through everything left behind, Harry instead retraced his steps upwards and back to the front door. He contemplated the upper level, thought better of it, and made to leave, rung out and weary, but just as he curled his hand around the doorknob, a pop behind him heralded the arrival of an unexpected visitor.

"Master Hadrian is leaving so soon?"

It was a house elf, tiny and wide eyed, with irises the colour of cornflowers. She wore a tiny little maid's uniform, a crest embroidered into the apron, and she wrung her hands in front of her, apparently anxious.

"Blimey," Harry mumbled, "I didn't know I had a house elf."

"You is being having many, Master Hadrian. "I is Totsy. It is being Totsy's job to keep Mayfair House clean for Master Hadrian."

"Hello, Totsy," harry acknowledged, smile on his face, "I'm glad to have met you."

Totsy preened under the welcome, but she queried, "Will Master Hadrian be returning?"

"Maybe next summer, Totsy," Harry answered, and the little elf practically deflated before his eyes, "But you can come take care of me, if you like. I'm staying in Diagon Alley until I go to Hogwarts."

Totsy lit up like a Christmas tree and the elf curtsied her gratitude, chattering happily all the while. Evidently, the only company she'd had aside from the other Potter house elves was Mistress Celeste's tabby cat, who was getting up there in years and wasn't really expected to live much longer. Harry wondered if he'd ought to take the cat to Hogwarts with him, but supposed he still had a fortnight to think about it. Either way, Justin was probably waiting for him, so Harry bade a temporary farewell to Totsy, closed the door behind him and made his way into the neighbour's front lawn and up their stoop. He sounded the doorbell, Justin appeared a few moments later and let Harry in with a smile, to lead him down the hallway and into the kitchen.

An elderly lady, with black hair flecked with grey and smile lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth that spoke of a long, happy life, was peeling potatoes at the counter, and two kids, Justin's younger siblings, were seated at the dining table, occupied with colouring books.

"Nan," Justin began, "This is Harry Potter. I go to school with him. Harry, my grandmother, Lucinda Finch. I told her what you were doing here, and it turns out she knew your grandparents."

"I did," Mrs Finch confirmed, releasing Harry's offered hand, "But then, I suppose it's an inevitability after living in this house for forty years. They were a stoic pair, not at all like those boys of theirs, but they had their moments, as we all do. I was sorry to learn of their passing. 1980, wasn't it?"

"I'm not certain," Harry answered, "Between August 1980 and November 1981, as I understand it. Do you… do you know what happened to them?"

"Dorea was never the same after Henry died," Mrs Finch recalled, "She didn't take care of herself, she grew ill, passed away in her sleep at the manor house, in Wales. Charlie buried his wife, went to bed, and didn't wake up the next morning. A broken heart, I knew. They loved each other terribly, you know, and Charlie had always insisted that he couldn't live without her. He would say 'Lucy, love, if the world ended in fire tomorrow, I would be happy, so long as I have my Dorea by my side'. You look like him, you know, like Charlus. I guess I shouldn't be surprised though, James was the spit of his father. It runs in the family, it seems."

Harry listened avidly as Mrs Finch ramblingly recollected some stories of his grandparents. When she excused herself to continue her dinner preparation, however, he didn't pry about his newfound uncle, Henry, and his newfound Aunts, Callista and Celeste. He wasn't quite sure if he was ready to learn of how they had died, and so instead, he spent some time with Justin, playing video games, and bemoaning summer homework, and musing over the possibilities of their approaching third year at Hogwarts School. Evening drew near however, and Harry needed to return to the Ugly Wench, and so he made his farewells to Mrs Finch and Justin guided him to the door, fidgeting nervously all the while.

"Is something wrong?" Harry queried.

"No," Justin answered with a vehement shake of his head. "No, I just wanted to… well, I wanted to apologise, actually. For thinking you were the heir of Slytherin. It was stupid of me, in hindsight."

Harry smiled and shrugged, unsure of what to say, despite how genuinely touched he was by the gesture. "That's alright, Justin. Thanks for the apology all the same. I don't think _anyone's_ said sorry. I appreciate it."

Justin's grin was relieved, and the two teens shook hands, but then Harry left and Justin closed the door, and just like the day before, another afternoon had passed before Harry had even realised it. He'd learned more than he'd expected he would, about his grandparents, about his father's siblings, about his father as a child, and as Harry slipped into the Ugly Wench, he supposed that it had been an afternoon well spent. And if he got a new friend in justin Finch-Fletchly out of it, than all the better. He'd learned the hard way the year before that he could never have too many friends, after all.

Inside his rented room, Harry settled himself on his bed, stared up at the ceiling, and wondered what life would have been like with his paternal aunts, or his uncle. He imagined it would have been a great deal better than what his life had been with the Dursleys, and Harry fell asleep dreaming of the what could have beens, uncomfortably aware that he was the last Potter left.

It suddenly seemed like a burden he couldn't bare, and Harry was unsure of where he should go from there. As his conscious thought faded, however, and dreams took over, he came to the conclusion that he'd decide in the morning. For now, Morpheus beckoned, and the lure of dreams was hard to ignore.

**Author's Note:** All information about Mayfair was acquired from Wikipedia. Though I've visited Hyde Park, and the Marble Arch, Piccadilly and Oxford St, I was only a lowly Australian tourist, London continues to call me stranger, and I will never be a resident of Mayfair…

A guest reviewer named Annie asked about my blindness, and how I go about writing chapters. I was asked by a few other reviewers, whom I replied to via private message, but for Annie, and anyone else interested, I'll explain quickly.

All Apple IoS devices have an accessibility feature called 'Voice Over', which is a screen reader that aurally reads any text on my computer screen. It's controlled by my keyboard and the few trackpad shortcuts I've learned, and that's how I go about writing and posting my stories, researching, reading, and generally, just most computer things.

Windows devices, as I understand it, have something familiar, but I've never used anything other than 'Voice Over', with the exception of a device called 'Jaws', which, to my knowledge, is compatible with both Apple and Windows products.

Hope that answers your question, Annie.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, everyone. I'm glad you've enjoyed so far. Until next time, -t.


	5. Chapter 5

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Five: August 20th **

Over a morning tea of chocolate brownie lathered in chocolate sauce, Harry read through the introductory chapter of his newest Potions text, but his thoughts were elsewhere, on all that he'd learned the day before, on the scrumptious breakfast Totsy had provided that morning, and the startling introduction to his dead aunt's tabby cat, Athena, who had taken to following him like a furry, feline shadow. Even now, she was stretched out in the chair across from him, lazily indulging in the summer sun, heedless of the occasional glance Harry had sent her way.

His musings were interrupted, however, with the sudden appearance of Justin beside his table and Harry blinked, somewhat confused. Nevertheless, he deposited his Potions text and journal into his satchel, hoisted the cat, Athena, into his lap and gave Justin a rueful grin.

"Morning, mate."

"Morning," Justin replied, and settled himself in the seat Athena had recently occupied. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Harry answered, without any real inclination to inform the Hufflepuff that he was still absorbing all that he'd learned the day before. It was probably a no brainer, anyway, and Harry had never been particularly fond of showing weakness. Not at Privet Drive, not at Hogwarts, not in front of Hufflepuffs who were decent enough to apologise when they knew they were in the wrong. "You? What brings you to the Alley today?"

"School supplies. I'm meeting Susan, Hannah and Gabe here. Did you want to join us?"

Harry grimaced, half in pained remembrance, half in distaste for the offer. Hannah Abbott had been rather vocal with her belief that Harry was the heir of Slytherin, and though Susan Bones and Gabriel Tate had never openly voiced similar opinions, they hadn't really defended him either. He was therefore not particularly inclined to spend time with them, but wasn't really sure how to say that without appearing as a complete tosser.

"I, err…" Harry looked around for inspiration, and then figured the truth was the best option, "I don't think I can spend time with your friends without being a complete git. They, err… made their opinions about me very clear after you were petrified."

Justin winced, but he nodded his understanding, and Harry was glad that he didn't push the issue. "I'm sorry for that, again. I was - _we_ were - out of line, accusing you of that."

"Its not your place to apologise for other people's mistakes," Harry answered, "And you've already apologised for your own."

From over Justin's shoulder, Harry caught sight of the three approaching Hufflepuffs, chattering carelessly between themselves as they approached Fortescue's. He gave a wan smile and turned back to his muggle-born companion.

"Your friends are here, Justin."

Justin turned his head and waved, got to his feet and looked back at Harry, rueful smile on his face. "Guess I'll see you later, Harry. Good luck with the search."

"Thanks," Harry acknowledged, "Catch you later."

When Justin and his friends were out of sight, Harry withdrew his Potions text and journal once again, and set to work annotating his pre-reading chapters, Athena in his lap and content with the minimal attention he offered her. He was disrupted, however, when the Hufflepuffs returned, school supplies purchased and eager for lunch of the dessert variety.

"Can we join you?" Susan Bones queried, expression anxious. She gnawed at her lower lip and her auburn hair was flecked gold in the noonday sun. She was very pretty, with a round face and bright blue eyes, but all he could think of was the expression on her face that day in the library, when she and her friends had looked at him as though he was a leper, or something worse.

In Little Whinging, Harry had come to expect such expressions, had accepted it, even, because he'd believed that despite anything in the muggle world, he'd always be welcome among the citizens of magical Britain. His peers and teachers had disproved that ideal, and Harry knew that he would only ever fend for himself in the future, and yet their rejection had stung like nothing else, and it wasn't something he could or would so easily forget.

"Are you sure I won't curse you where you sit?" he asked bitterly. She flinched, and he was momentarily gratified. The feeling didn't last though, and afterwards, Harry just felt tired, and drained, and so damnably _old_. "Sure, whatever. I'm done here, anyway."

Once Athena was situated on the ground, Harry got to his feet, packed his bags and bade them a good afternoon. Justin gave him an apologetic smile as Harry passed him, Harry nodded his understanding and continued on his way, headed back to the Ugly Wench and the solitude his rented room provided. As he left, he heard Justin rebuke his friends, and Susan's reply.

"I _told_ you he wasn't inclined to your company. Maybe next time, you'll actually listen."

"Merlin, I feel awful."

Seated on the edge of his bed, with Athena curled up in his lap, Harry called Totsy to him and the elf appeared with a pop, an enthusiastic grin on her face. She curtsied in deference, Harry instructed her to rise, and he queried, "Do you know of any sentient portraits of the Potter family?"

"They is all being at Potter Manor, Master Hadrian," Totsy answered, "Is you wishing to be going there?"

Harry took a moment to consider that option and quickly came to the conclusion that it was probably, at this point in time, his best bet in finding answers about his family. Therefore, he nodded his head, deposited Athena against his pillows and got to his feet, indisputably anxious. Nevertheless however, he took hold of Totsy's offered hand, closed his eyes against the vacuum sensation Totsy's magic offered, and when he opened them again, he was no longer inside the Ugly Wench.

Instead, harry was on a gravel road and in front of him, there loomed a towering and arched, wrought iron gate, on either side of which was a redbrick wall about twice as high as Harry was tall. Mounted on the two pillars that held up the two gates, there were a pair of stone carved dragons, with rubies in place of their eyes and wickedly sharp looking incisors. The boy pretended not to notice how remarkably lifelike the two creatures appeared, and instead he turned to Totsy, awaiting instruction.

"Master Hadrian is needing to unlock family wards," Totsy explained patiently, "He is to be cutting his hand to sacrifice his blood."

A part of Harry was repulsed by the possibility, Ron's unrelenting insistence that blood magic was dark, was _evil echoed in his mind,_ and he wanted to refuse to even _consider_ participating in it, but then he thought: this was his _family_. It couldn't be dark, could it, if _they'd_ used it?Or maybe, just maybe, Ron was wrong?

Conflicted and anxious, Harry mulled over his options again, but eventually, his desire to learn more about his family won out, and Harry turned to Totsy, who already held a cutting knife in hand. He accepted it in a trembling fist, cut a deep line into his palm, and grimaced at the sharp pain he felt radiate up his arm.

At once, the crimson, viscous liquid that was his lifeblood seeped into his cupped palm, and Harry looked to Totsy for further direction. In turn, the house elf pointed to the lock in the centre of the two, towering gates, and Harry pressed his bloodied palm against the cold black metal, entirely uncertain of what he should expect in response.

What Harry received was a two way course of magic and he marvelled at the foreign sensation, absolutely speechless. His magic welled up inside him, coursed down his arm and straight through the blood on the lock, and in the meantime, the magic of the wards, of Redridge Hall, of his family manor, coursed up from the gate, through his arm and straight to his core, where he was recognised, and welcomed home as kin, as a beloved, and dearly missed, son.

It nearly brought Harry, who'd never had a home to call his own, to tears, and he revelled in the sensation of warmth, and comfort, and _home_, one that was his, and no one else's, with the exception, of course, of the Potters before him.

Nearly lost completely in his thoughts, Harry almost missed it when the gates clicked unlocked and opened marginally, but then Totsy was there, chivying him forward, past the stone sentinels and up a cobblestone, willow tree lined driveway. The canopy stretched overhead like a tunnel to paradise, Harry caught the sounds of birds and fairies in the trees, and beside him, Totsy had healed his hand, and was skipping her way up the path, excited to be returning _home_.

There was a circular drive at the end of the road, the centrepiece a marble fountain that spouted water overhead, glittering in the summer sunshine like drops of precious diamonds. Behind it, however, was what had Harry's attention and he took it all in, lost for words.

Redridge Hall was a marvel, inspired by Grecian architecture, three storeys tall, a sprawling manor with marble pillars, a flat roof, and an arched overhang above the oaken double doors. There were images carved into each pillar, telling the tales of Welsh legends, two more dragons, brass this time, as door knockers, and a brass plaque to the right of the doors. It read 'Redridge Hall' above the family's coat of arms, to the right of which was the family name - _Potter_ - and beneath that, the family's motto - _Familia Primum _- and oddly, the year the manor was built, 1743.

And Harry James Potter, raised with nothing to his name, treated as something less than a pauper at his relatives' behest, couldn't fathom that it was all, singularly _his_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Six: August 20th Cont.**

The foyer was a grand, even ostentatious, affair, with a marble staircase directly in front of him. A pair of inordinately lifelike marble dragons stood sentinel on the end of each banister, while a tan velvet runner ran the length of the stairs and marble floor. A pair of hallways disappeared out of sight on either side of the grande staircase, but the walls to his right and left each housed set of double oak doors. Above them was a mezzanine level that clung to the walls, and met the top of the steps. There were portraits too, where doors were not, and the occupants within were all pushing to catch sight of him, more people, in fact, than there were portraits. They spoke, and pointed, and for their finely painted clothing, and their aristocratic features, they were acting like his classmates when they'd all learned he was a parselmouth, barring the fear.

It wasn't a pleasant comparison.

Reflexively, Harry ruffled his hair, discomforted by their scrutiny and glanced upwards, to the domed glass ceiling overhead, from the apex of which hung an enormous, luxuriously elaborate crystal chandelier. From the sun outside, the crystals sent burst of refracted rainbows along the walls, and in all, it was a rather pretty, albeit glamorous, sight to behold, and the impression of wealth, of affluence and prestige, could not be denied.

It went without saying that the Dursleys would likely have an apoplexy if they ever caught wind of this particular inheritance, and even as the grandeur of Redridge Hall left him speechless, Harry had to smother a chuckle at the mental image the thought provoked..

Harry didn't get the chance to admire it for long though, and he'd not even bothered trying to guess it's monetary value, because a muted 'pop' heralded the arrival of another house elf. He was clad in a butler's uniform, with wispy strands of ivory hair combed back into an immaculate ponytail. He was an old elf, with eyes a dark shade of brown,and a careworn face wrinkled with age. He smiled kindly, though, and the expression was a comfort.

"Welcome home, Master Hadrian," he greeted with a deferential bow, "I am Noddy. I oversee the work of the elves owned by the House of Potter."

"Hello, Noddy," Harry acknowledged, "Thank you for your work. Redridge Hall, and the Mayfair house, are in excellent condition."

Both elves preened under the praise, but shortly thereafter, Totsy had disappeared to do some more work, while Noddy led him through a guided tour of the family manor. It was overwhelming, the depth of history, of _legacy_ he observed in the process, but as the aged elf guided him into an informal sitting room, and Harry dropped gracelessly into a wing backed armchair, it was only one shock among many.

"You are James' son?"

Harry startled, and looked up to the portrait over the mantle, where sat an aged wizard with an uncanny resemblance to Harry's father. They shared the same hazel eyes, but this man's hair had turned silver with the age James Potter would never acquire, and the laugh lines of a life well lived, and a man well loved. It was the same man from the portrait in the Mayfair House, Charlus Potter, and a part of Harry _jolted_ with the revelation that he was seated in front of his father's father.

His _grandfather_.

With a mouth suddenly as dry as the Sahara, Harry licked at chapped lips, and managed to reply, "Yes, sir. I'm Harry."

"Welcome to Redridge Hall, lad," Charlus acknowledged, "We've waited for you." As though an afterthought, he added, "Not that there's much else to do around here."

With a muted pop, Noddy reappeared in the room, a silver tea tray in hand, on which was a silver tea service and a solitary tea cup. harry was rather chagrined by the realisation that he'd not even noticed the elf leave, but he was brought from his thoughts by Noddy, who seemed intent on pouring his tea.

Harry was smart enough not to try and stop him.

"How do you like your tea, Master Hadrian?"

"Err… milk, no sugar, please."

When Noddy had served Harry his tea, and had disappeared with a muted pop, Harry looked back to the portrait of his grandfather. He was rather embarrassed to find that Charlus had been silently observing him, but Harry didn't get the opportunity to dwell on it.

"The house elves have kept us up to date with the goings on in magical Britain, but we know woefully little about your life. Would you catch us up on the details, Harry?"

The thirteen year old inwardly grimaced. He'd never been too keen on talking about himself, hated the attention and scrutiny it generally put him under, and truly, it was just about the last thing he wanted to do. The man asking was his grandfather though, so how could he say no?

"What did you want to know?"

"Everything." Charlus hadn't hesitated in his reply, though Harry wished he had.

"You probably know this already, but my mum and dad were killed on Halloween, 1981. I was sent to live with my mother's sister and her family. They didn't tell me anything about magic, or my parents, or anything, really, but when I turned eleven…"

Harry's tale lasted some time, but between sips of tea, and glances at his silently captivated audience, he told the whole story in full. When he was done, as he settled back in his armchair, and waited for his grandfather to speak, he felt oddly, unexplainably, lighter, as though a burden he hadn't known he'd carried had finally been lifted off his shoulders, and he could finally rest easy. He'd not appreciated the scrutiny he'd received as he had talked, but a burden shared was a burden halved, and he couldn't deny that it felt good to talk about his childhood, and his 'adventures' at Hogwarts.

He hadn't even realised he'd wanted to.

"To clarify, you know nothing of your family? Of our legacy?" Charlus queried. "No one has told you anything?"

Upon a nod of confirmation from Harry, Charlus hummed his acknowledgement, his eyebrows furrowed on his painted face. His lips were pursed, and his fingers were steepled, and Harry received the sudden impression that the reality was not a pleasant truth to learn.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for, lad," Charlus answered, "We'll just have to educate you as best we can. What's the date?"

"The 20th of August, sir."

"None of that, Harry, it's Taid."

"Taid," Harry repeated, and the word was strange on his tongue. "What does that mean?"

"It's Welsh," Charlus answered, "The word for 'grandfather'."

Something warm bloomed in his chest, and Harry smiled contentedly. He said nothing though, simply nodded, and for some time, the pair lingered in an easy, companionable silence.

"It seems we don't have much time before you return to school," Charlus mused. "I suppose I'll start with our family's history…"

And so Charlus began to weave a tale of the first Potter, an artisan, the son of Guinevere Peverell and a mage of the crumbling Roman Empire. The first Potter was born out of wedlock, but renowned across the continent for his craft. He travelled the western world, sold his wares, and earned a small fortune, but it was in the land that would one day be part of Wales where he settled, married his love, and fathered a son.

It was Harry's turn to listen, enthralled, as his grandfather, and later, the portraits of his ancestors before Charlus, educated him on the family's legacy. It wasn't a pristine history by any stretch of the imagination, but it was _his_ blood, _his_ family, and it wasn't until Noddy popped in, a tray of food in hand, that Harry realised how much time had passed him by.

"Merlin, it's late," Harry exclaimed, startled.

"That it is," Charlus agreed, "Perhaps you would like to stay here for the evening?"

Harry contemplated the offer over his dinner of roast lamb, potatoes and vegetables, but eventually declined, certain that if he got used to it - his _home_ - than he'd only be more miserable when he'd have to leave for Hogwarts. It would be best if he completed his stay in the Ugly Wench for now, but there was always the summer of 1994 to look forward to, and quite frankly, he had a lot of information to absorb until then.

When Noddy had taken away his used plate and cutlery, Harry got to his feet, smiled at his grandfather, and said his farewells - for now. Then he left the room, meandered his way back to the foyer, where he met Totsy, who gave him a cheerful smile, who clasped his hand in hers, and who spirited him away, back to the Ugly Wench, and Athena, who pounced on him as soon as he'd appeared in his rented suite, apparently in search of some scratches behind her velvet ears.

"Is Master Hadrian happy?"

Brought from his thoughts about all he'd learned that day, Harry looked at Totsy, who seemed to be indisputably anxious to hear his answer.

"Yes, Totsy," Harry answered, smiling, "I'm very happy. Thank you for taking me home today."

The little elf preened, curtsied, and answered, "It is Totsy's honour to serve."

He fidgeted in the face of her servitude, so unused to authority over anyone. His interactions with Noddy had more or less been done on autopilot, but now that he'd had the chance to absorb all that he'd learned, Harry was overwhelmed. He had house elves bound to him as the last of the Potters, he had a family history that dated back to the third century, and farther, if one took the effort to learn of the Peverell and Aurilias family histories. In his retelling, Charlus had only gotten to the time of the Hogwarts founders, and Harry was eager to learn more. As he drifted off to sleep, however, Harry supposed that it would have to wait until morning. He was tired, and it had been a long day, and Morpheus' embrace was a welcome comfort to his exhausted mind. Tomorrow was another day, and until then, only his dreams could reach him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seven:** _August 21st - 22nd_

Between thin, callused fingers, harry held a stoppered vial, within which was his order from Belladonna. He was seated on the edge of his bed as he'd been warned to do, he'd waited until his bedtime so the healing process wouldn't disturb his routine, he'd asked Totsy to make sure the room was soundproof in case he screamed. He'd been warned it would be painful and he was prepared for that, but still Harry had hesitated, and he was unsure of why.

The potion would rid him of the last physical effects of Privet Drive. Of course, the psychological scars would always remain, his lack of faith in authority figures, his dislike of attention and scrutiny, and his _undiluted hatred_ of small, enclosed spaces, but regardless, and perhaps bizarrely, it seemed like a milestone, a mark of change that he'd remember forever.

With the reminder that Gryffindors charged, and another bracing breath, Harry unstoppered the bottle, lifted it to his lips, and drained it all in several swallows. It tasted like oranges, and carrots, of fruit and vegetables and milk and rust, and Harry screwed up his face, the strange blend of flavours unpleasant on his tongue. In another moment, he'd collapsed backwards in a dead faint, the glass vial hit the carpeted floor, and Harry was lost in a world of discomfort.

When he came to, it was dawn, he'd been moved up in the bed, and his glasses had been set on the bedside table. The room was illuminated by the rising sun in his window, and Harry stared at the ceiling for a long time, silently taking stock of his body.

That was, of course, until he'd realised that he could see all the spidery cracks on the ceiling without assistance from his glasses.

He'd not expected that.

Unable to suppress his curiosity, Harry lifted himself out of bed, stood for a moment, and established fairly quickly that his centre of balance was off. He stood taller, perhaps ten centimetres or so, but as he slowly made his way to the clawed mirror on the other side of the room, he wondered idly what else had changed.

"Well, don't you look a sight?"

Harry grimaced at the mirror, who seemed to hate him on principle for whatever reason, and examined himself with a critical eye. His skin was no longer so pale as to appear sickly, and neither did he appear so thin. His shoulders were a slight bit broader, and he was certainly still lanky like teenaged boys everywhere, but he no longer looked half starved, or as though he'd keel over at any moment. He looked tired though, as though he'd just been run through the ringer, and in a sense, Harry supposed he had.

What to do then, since he was not allowed to do anything particularly strenuous for the next 24 hours?

Later, as he'd read more chapters in that year's textbooks, and had taken notes in separate journals where appropriate, he also cracked open his supplemental texts, and was not surprised by the broader understanding in each subject he received for his efforts. He took notes for _those_ texts too, in the appropriate journals, but eventually lunch time rolled around and Harry made his way downstairs to eat, ridiculously hungry despite the snacks Totsy had provided him since breakfast.

Once he'd ordered himself a club sandwich, with a side of chips and a bottle of gillywater, Harry settled himself in a booth far from the doors, withdrew the book his grandfather had provided him, called 'A Potter's Tale: An Unabridged History of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter', and continued to read about his ancestors. There was a section for each head of house, told in story format, with a gritty sort of realism that didn't sugar coat the fact that very few Potters were pure as the driven snow. Most of them weren't light wizards, more in the 'magical grey area', but Harry still didn't fully comprehend the concept, and so he had taken to ignoring it until he could.

When his food arrived, harry put his book away, and was about to start eating when he was joined by the aged proprietor from Flourish and Blott's, apparently on his lunch break. He greeted the man who'd made Harry reevaluate his time at Hogwarts, and made idle chit chat with him as he ate his lunch. Their conversation turned to Diagon Alley and Harry, interested in another person's perspective, asked about Knocktern. He'd not yet been exploring, but he intended to, but he thought it would be best if he gathered some information first.

"It's more dangerous in the daylight hours than it is at night," said the proprietor, "At night, it's where most of the younger adults go to have fun, dance, drink, things like that. Day time, however… well, that's another matter entirely."

"Sir?"

"Questionable businesses, illegal transactions, things like that."

Harry remembered the summer earlier, and his brief time in Borgan and Bourke's, remembered Lucius Malfoy, and the things he'd sold there. He'd been terrified out of his mind that he'd get caught, but he'd made it out unscathed, and had lived to tell the tale, uninteresting as it may be.

"If you're interested in exploring the place, take a cloak, hide your face. Pretty boy like you, well, some characters wouldn't hesitate to…"

The proprietor cleared his throat, and changed the subject, apparently not interested in enlightening Harry on what _certain characters_ would do to _pretty boys like him_. Regardless, Harry still wanted to go exploring, but he thought he should probably arrange some precautionary measures - just in case.

With a slow nod of acknowledgement, because he was honestly unsure of how he should respond to the implication that he was a pretty boy, and 'certain characters' would enjoy taking advantage of that fact, Harry continued his meal as the old man, once again, began to tell stories of his youth. Idly, Harry wondered why the man had sought him out. He didn't ask though, because aside from the fact that it would be inordinately rude, Harry _was genuinely_ interested in the man's stories, and particularly, the new perspective of the magical world that he acquired therein.

Eventually though, the man had to return to his shop, and Harry had to arrange some precautionary measures, so once he'd left a tip for the cantankerous bartender, he retreated upstairs, settled himself in his solitary armchair, and called Totsy to him.

"Master Hadrian called Totsy?"

"Yes, Totsy," harry confirmed, "I was wondering if you could do something for me?"

"Totsy is happy to serve, Master Hadrian."

He outlined what he needed of her, a protection detail, simply, and then asked if it was something she was comfortable with. Her eyes were wide, and shining, and Harry briefly wondered, with the familiar, encroaching feeling of panic bubbling up inside his chest, if he'd just broken his house elf.

"It would be Totsy's honour to guard Master Hadrian," Totsy curtsied so low, the plaits she'd pulled her hair into pooled on the floor, "Totsy will guard Master Hadrian with her life."

"Thank you, Totsy," harry smiled, "I appreciate your loyalty very much. I've not had many people to rely on in my life."

Before his elf could fall into paroxysms of undiluted worship, or some such, Harry reminded her to disillusion the Potter Crest proudly emblazoned on her apron, procured himself a cloak from his trunk, and led the way downstairs, out into the alley, and through the portal that led them to the intersection where Diagon Alley met Knocktern. He raised his hood so it shadowed his face, ensured Totsy was well, and took his first intentional steps into the relative unknown.

In truth, Harry wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, and his half mad, panicked dash from Borgan and Bourke's the year prior wasn't much of a reference to go by, but truly, aside from the constant sight of hoods, the questionable merchandise, and the cold shadow of towering office buildings, Knocktern Alley was very much the same as it's more socially acceptable counterpartt.

It was rather anticlimactic, really.

Around him, hooded strangers travelled to and fro, between dingy shops and morally questionable street vendors, who sold things like pig spleens and virgin's blood, and other such assorted oddities in the shadow of shops like 'The Looking Glass' and 'Holly's House of Herbs' that didn't really display their wares, but seemed to have a steady flow of foot traffic besides. '

He took in the sites with a curious eye, not far removed from Diagon Alley, but shadowed by the surrounding buildings, and chilly in the way places got when untouched by the sun. Pathways branched off from the main alley, led into a residential district, of sorts, but Harry opted to continue on along the main street, passed more shops with questionable products, past pubs and restaurants with interesting clientele, and past the night clubs and bars the old proprietor had told him about. He'd briefly contemplated entering some of the less morally suspect stores (Holly's House of Herbs came to mind), but he'd eventually thought better of it, and left that kind of exploration for another day.

Finally, Harry came to the end of the road, and was just about to return the way he'd come when a voice stopped him in his tracks.

It was young, perhaps his own age, and vaguely familiar the same way Lisa Turpin's was.

A classmate, then, and one he didn't interact with often, though that didn't mean much since Harry had essentially isolated himself between the school's resident 'know it all' and Ron, who was an ignorant prat on a good day, and something worse on a bad one.

"What do you want?"

A low and gravelly, indistinct murmur reached his ears and despite himself, Harry tensed. Totsy stiffened slightly behind him, and together, in silence, the pair waited, braced for anything.

"My grandfather would have your head." The voice was unsteady - _scared_ - and yet, he continued anyway. "Would you risk it, Greyback?"

Totsy made an indistinct noise of fear, clenched her fist in the material of his cloak, and stared at the mouth of the alley, entirely petrified. She recognised the name, it seemed, and she didn't like the sound of it.

"But the little Lordling would taste so sweet."

After that, Harry didn't much like it either, and without fail, his hero complex was triggered. He entered the side alley, ready for anything, and gained more than he'd bargained for.

**Author's Note:** I woke up to find I'd received 21 reviews in 24 hours. I'm a little bit poleaxed, but very, very grateful. Thank you very much for all of your feedback. I probably can't say it enough. Even though this chapter feels somewhat rushed to me, I hope you enjoyed, and until next time, -t.


	8. Chapter 8

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eight:** _August 22nd _

It turned out his classmate, Greyback's would be pretty boy victim, or whatever, was a Slytherin in his year by the name of Theodore Nott. He was thin and reedy, with an unassuming, blend into the crowd kind of face, dark hair, dark eyes, a pale complexion and freckles on the bridge of his nose. Currently, his pale complexion had tinged an ashen grey, his eyes were wide and dilated, and his wand was out of sight. he was backed into the wall, and caged in by the towering _thing_ in front of him. The Slytherin couldn't escape, and Harry wondered, briefly, what would have happened to him if Harry hadn't been there.

He probably didn't want to know.

"What's this? A little hero?"

The _thing_, Greyback, looked particularly nauseating, or perhaps terrifying was a better description. It looked like a human who'd not gotten the message of evolution, caught somewhere between animal and man, with claws for fingernails, fangs for incisors, and lupine eyes almost yellow in the dim light of the alleyway. . His hair was matted and chaotic, and his scraggly beard was speckled grey and white and black, his skin riddled with scars, predominantly of claw and fingernail scratches, and even bite marks. His back was hunched, but he was scarily tall besides, and Harry wondered if this was one of the monsters under children's beds come to life.

It certainly seemed like it.

"Cor, what is that?" He asked himself, and Greyback's question went ignored.

It was disturbing how animalistic he appeared, like a predator who'd just been interrupted in the middle of his hunt. His yellow eyes gleamed with malicious intent, and Harry got the sudden impression that whoever this thing was, he could probably eat Harry and Nott for dinner, with room for seconds.

It was a discomforting revelation.

The Gryffindor had seen a lot of strange things since his return to magical Britain, and yet this thing, this _manimal_ seemed to trigger his baser instincts to _run the hell away_ in a way that the basilisk, that the acromnatula colony, that even _Voldemort_ had failed to do.

It was disconcerting, the bizarre impression of prey caught in a predator's sights, and Harry didn't like it in the slightest.

He looked away, to his quivering house elf, who stood firm in the face of a monster despite her fear, just because Harry himself was there. The loyalty baffled him.

"Totsy, do your worst," Harry instructed.

Totsy, who shivered violently as she did so, raised her hand to the thing still distracted by Harry's sudden appearance, and Harry watched as, without fail, Greyback went flying. He hit the alley's back wall with an almighty crack, slumped to the ground in an unconscious heap and stayed there, unmoving.

Harry scanned the ground for his classmate's wand, found it on the other side of the alleyway, and approached the Slytherin with the handle pointed outwards. His own wand was out of sight, and as the taller boy accepted it with a nod of thanks, Harry removed his hood, eyed Greyback once again, and wondered who, or what, he was.

Not completely human, at the very least, but what else he was, was yet to be determined.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," Nott nodded, "Thanks, Potter."

"No problem," Harry answered, "Totsy did all the work."

The elf in question was hidden behind Harry's legs again, still shivering, but she stuck her head out at the sound of her name, and Nott's bemused smile was brief. He thanked her though, without any hint of patronising, and Harry had to respect the Slytherin for that.

In truth, he didn't have an issue with the taller boy. Nott stuck to himself, mostly, and never got involved with Malfoy's superiority complex. They'd never had a conversation in the two years they'd attended school together, but the Slytherin was polite, and it wasn't particularly a chore to reciprocate the courtesy. It was refreshing, rather, because he couldn't remember the last time he'd had a civilised conversation with a Slytherin.

"Who is he?" Harry queried.

Nott tilted his head, confused, but he answered regardless. "That's Fenrir Greyback. He's the reason for 80 per cent of all the bitten lycanthropes in the last 40 years."

Puzzled and bewildered, Harry asked, "What did he want with you?"

"

"He has a grudge against my dead father for whatever reason, and has vowed to take it out on the rest of my family. He caught me off guard."

Even as the Slytherin wore a chagrined expression on his face, presumably because he'd been caught while vulnerable, Harry's thoughts were on what his classmate had said. It certainly put things into perspective, and Harry had to sardonically wonder what other perceptions he'd have broken by September 1st.

He had thought Professor Snape's grudge he'd inherited from his father was bad, but when compared to that of a werewolf who liked infecting, and possibly _eating_ humans, Snape's grudge was a relative walk in the park. After all, what was a few house points compared to a lifetime bound to the cycle of the moon?

"Why hasn't he been arrested yet?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Because it's not actually illegal for a werewolf to bite people," Nott answered sardonically. "It would be denying their nature, otherwise, and certain parties are wary of being accused of double standards. There's a bounty on his head, though. Lot's of people want to see him dead."

"Can he scent us?" Harry queried.

"Yes."

Harry took a moment to ask Totsy to hide their scents. Afterwards, he donned his hood once again, and walked with Nott, who'd also adorned a hood, towards Diagon Alley. Harry watched the scenery as he passed Knocktern by, and as he did so, The silence between them was surprisingly comfortable, but as they reached Fortescue's ice cream parlour, and as Totsy popped away, Harry spoke. He wanted to keep an eye on the Slytherin, make sure the bloke was alright the way he hadn't with Hermione after the troll, and Ginny after the Chamber.

It was the least he could do.

"What subjects are you doing this year?" He flicked off his hood and settled at his usual table, and after a moment's hesitation, Nott settled in the seat across from him, also sans hood.

"Ancient Runes and Arithmency," answered the Slytherin. "I'm interested in spell creation."

"I'm doing those too, but I'm more interested in the warding aspect," Harry admitted, "But spell creation sounds interesting, if complex."

"I'd have thought you'd go for the easier subjects," Nott admitted, "You don't seem interested in school."

"I was going to," Harry answered, sheepish smile on his face, "But I guess I had something of a reality check over the hols. Professor McGonagall already approved my transfer."

Over milkshakes and sundaes, the two unlikely companions chatted mindlessly about school, and their summer homework, and the classes they'd be introduced to that coming school year. Nott's hands stopped shaking halfway through, and it seemed the calmer he got, the more acerbic his wit became, and by the time Harry had finished his drink, Nott had become a casual acquaintance, if nothing else.

Harry had never really bought into the whole 'Slytherins are evil' mindset, but with the rivalry between their houses, and the perpetual pain in his arse that was Draco Malfoy, he'd never been particularly inclined to get to know any of them either. He wished he had sooner though, because Nott, who had told Harry to call him Theo, was hysterical, and he probably would have appreciated the bloke's sense of humour when the rest of the school was under the impression that Harry himself was the heir of Slytherin.

Harry could recall that Nott was one of the few lower years who remained neutral in that entire mess, but at the time, he'd been too upset at most everyone else's treatment of him to notice. There were others, too, a few more Slytherins, and Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors, but the pariah treatment had narrowed his focus, and he'd not been able to see anything beyond his own hurt.

It was something he intended never to repeat again.

"What were you doing down Knocktern, anyway?" Theo queried, "Not a place I'd figure the Gryffindor Golden Boy would visit."

"Exploring," he answered, entirely unabashed. "I got lost down there last summer, got frightened out of my mind by this hag selling human fingers, thought I'd see what the place was all about."

Nott snorted at the mental picture, and laughed, before he queried, "And what do you think?"

Harry contemplated his answer. "It doesn't really live up to its reputation, Fenrir Greyback notwithstanding. I'm also not sure why I was so scared last summer. It's alright enough, I guess, but I didn't really see any shops that particularly appealed to me. That said, I don't know what half of them sold…"

"The herb house sells recreational drugs," Nott informed him, and Harry blinked slowly, bemused by the prospect, "There are a few werewolf shelters, some blood banks, most of them just junk shops. There are a few secondhand bookstores, a wand crafter, and that's not the half of it. Most of the shops are down the side streets, actually. I'll show you around sometime, if you like?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. "Maybe not today though. Something tells me that when he wakes up, Greyback will be on the prowl."

Not grimaced at the thought, nodded his agreement, and checked his watch.

"I can't, anyway." He grimaced again, dropped a couple of sickles onto the table, and got to his feet with an awkward looking smile on his face. "I told my grandfather I'd be home by three, so I'd better go before he sends a search party." He shrugged, as if to say 'what can you do?' "We're going away until the 30th, so I suppose I'll catch you at school, yeah?" Harry nodded, and the Slytherin continued. "And thanks, again, for earlier. I owe you one."

Harry got to his feet, dropped his own silver coins onto the table, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his denim jeans. "It's no worries, mate. I'll catch you at Hogwarts. Enjoy the rest of your hols."

As the Slytherin made his way to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry returned to the Ugly Wench, made his way into his room, and flopped gracelessly onto his bed. Athena jumped onto his stomach, he scratched behind her ears, and silently marvelled over how his day had turned out. He'd not expected to run into a classmate down Knocktern Alley, let alone form a relatively casual friendship with him in the wake of liberating him from Fenrir Greyback's clutches, but that was exactly what had happened, and Harry couldn't bring himself to oppose the change. He could use all the friends he could get, after all, because his future would be bleak, otherwise. He just hoped it wouldn't come back to bite him in the arse later. But then, harry knew, he'd not seen the last of Fenrir Greyback, and _that_ monster was a dangerous enemy.

Harry smiled bitterly at the thought. After all, Fenrir Greyback was just another one in a long line of people who wanted him dead. That was okay though, because the next time he came calling, Harry would be ready for him.

He could do nothing less.


	9. Chapter 9

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Nine:** _August 23rd _

"The Ancient and Noble House of Potter has a very proud history. Guinevere Peverell and Mathias Aurilius are only the beginning. Have you read the sections I recommended?"

The thirteen year old nodded his confirmation, and his thoughts wandered to the sections his grandfather spoke of. They were some of the notable figures in his family's ancestry, people who accomplished great things, or married powerful people, or persons who simply stood out because they led an interesting lifestyle. For instance, William Potter, who was a curse breaker in the 1700's, and Cassius Potter, who became Minister of Magic in 1842, and Edward Potter, who married Godric Gryffindor's only daughter, Freya in 1000 a.d.

There was too much history to cover in two weeks, but his grandfather had wanted Harry to know _why_ they were such a powerful, and proud, family, and hence the recommended sections in the book written by Charlus himself. There were more notable figures, as Charlus had explained to him, and Harry had only touched the surface. He still had a lot more to learn. It was overwhelming, really, the depth of history he'd inherited, and the expectations, the shoes of giants among men he had to fill, weighed heavy on his mind. The age old adage 'be careful what you wish for' came to mind, and yet, Harry couldn't bring himself to regret his decisions. He would _never_ regret the opportunity to learn where he'd come from, learn where he belonged.

"What was that, Hadrian?"

"Yes," harry answered. he tried not to roll his eyes, "I did, _Taid_."

"Good," Charlus acknowledged, "Now, what subjects are you doing at school this year?"

Harry rattled off his list of electives, Charlus nodded his approval, and Harry balked at the hypocrisy. He said nothing though, because he doubted the painting of his grandfather would appreciate it, and instead he wrote down a list of the supplemental text his grandfather recommended for his Saturday classes, sat back afterwards, and listened as Charlus retold stories of James, Henry, Callista and Celeste as children, when they'd run wild and free, entirely heedless of the world, and the terrible fate that would befall them.

In a lull between stories, however, Harry raised the question that had been on his mind since he'd learned of them, his paternal aunts and uncle.

"What happened to them?"

Charlus' expression turned sad, and so terribly wistful, and Harry regretted the words as soon as they'd been spoken. He didn't need to know, not really, but he wanted to, and so he didn't retract the question. Instead, he waited patiently, and Charlus did not disappoint.

"There was quite the age difference between my children," Charlus began, "James was born six years after Celeste, eight years after Callista, and ten years after Henry.. After he had graduated from Hogwarts in 1968, Henry decided that he'd join the Auror Corps, and it was the proudest day of my life…"

The recollection continued.

Henry trained under the mentorship of Alastor Moody, he became a certified auror in 1973, around the same time Voldemort began his rise to power, and he was outstanding. In June of 1980, however, after seven years of opposing them, he was targeted by Voldemort himself, duelled him for close to an hour, but eventually fell to a killing curse directly to the heart.

Charlus didn't explain about his aunts, and Harry didn't push the issue. Instead, he excused himself to visit the library.

It was an extraordinary sight, with a room that rose up all three storeys of the manor, chock full of books, and interspersed with comfortable sitting areas and the occasional study desk.

There was a lectern near the doorway ,though, on which was the library catalogue. He approached it with shuffling footsteps, ran a callused finger over the age worn leather, and opened it up to the first page.

When accomplished, he picked up the self-inking quill beside the ledger, and began to copy down all the titles his grandfather had listed. They appeared in a hovering pile beside the pedestal, Harry deposited them in his bag, and he quietly thanked the manor on his way out of the room, headed back to his grandfather's portrait. He'd learned that Redridge Hall was mildly sentient the same way Hogwarts was, brought to life by the magic that thrummed through every inch of the manor and grounds. It didn't matter that the building itself was only 250 years old, because the land had been in the family since the first Potter, and their legacy remained in blood, sweat, and tears.

It was rather humbling, if Harry thought about it, but between everything else, he'd only done so briefly, and there was still so much for him to learn.

"Can you explain to me the purpose of the investment vault?" Harry requested.

"It's tradition," Charlus answered, "Every boy in our family, when he turns eleven, is given a hundred thousand galleons to learn how to invest wisely. You may ask for advice from any whom you trust, but every decision is yours to make, as are the successes or failures to follow."

No pressure then, he thought to himself sardonically, and wondered how badly he'd bugger _this_ tradition up.

Charlus continued his explanation, mostly outlining the finer details, and Harry left some time later, overwhelmed and his thoughts a discombobulation of things, his uncle, his investment prospects, his Saturday classes.

It was a lot of information to absorb, and Harry sat outside of Florien Fortescue's, trying to make sense of it all, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Neville Longbottom beside his table, and Harry gave his housemate a smile.

The boy was slightly taller, and broader as well, but his smile was the same, even if the way he held himself was not. It appeared that his classmate had grown out of his shell somewhat, and Harry wondered briefly about what else had changed.

"Hello, Neville."

"Hi, Harry," Neville greeted, "How are you?"

"I'm well," Harry answered, "Would you like to sit?"

Neville acquiesced, and they made idle small talk for a time, but then Neville turned solemn, and Harry tensed, unsure of what he should expect.

"I have to tell you something, Harry."

"Alright," harry agreed, wary, "What is it?"

Neville frowned and looked around. "Do you mind if we go somewhere private?"

"Are you here with someone?"

"No," Neville answered, and clarified, "I was at the bank. I saw you as I was leaving."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement, called Totsy to him, and the little elf was entirely too happy to transport Harry and Neville to the Mayfair house.

She'd not seemed particularly timid beforehand, but Totsy seemed to have had a confidence boost since their adventure down Knocktern Alley, and Harry supposed it had something to do with the fact that after she'd left he and Nott at Fortescue's, she'd returned to Greyback, popped him in front of a vampire named Gregorio Sanguini, and harassed the sorry bugger until he'd handed over the fifty thousand galleon bounty on Greyback's head.

As an irrelevant non-sequitur, that gold currently sat in a bottomless sack inside his trunk, and Harry was _still_ not sure what he should do with it. He'd tried to let Totsy keep it, but the little elf wouldn't hear any of it, and Harry was smart enough to not argue with a stubborn female, house elf, witch or otherwise.

Neville looked around the sitting room curiously, but his gaze settled on the portrait over the mantle, and Harry's smile was sad.

"We're at the house my father grew up in," he explained, "The only person who knows I've been here is Justin Finch-Fletchly, and that's just because he's in his grandparents' house, next door. Did you want anything? A drink? Something to eat?"

"No thanks, Harry, can I sit?"

Harry nodded, and Neville settled himself in an armchair that faced the window. Harry sat across from him and for a time, they sat in silence. Harry let Neville collect his thoughts, and he lost himself in his own as the tawny haired boy did so, but then Neville cleared his throat, and Harry refocused himself.

"You've heard about Sirius Black?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, "He's all over the '_Prophet_', and the muggle news too."

Neville hesitated, and harry was suddenly aware of a feeling of foreboding that had him braced for anything. He doubted he'd like what Neville had to say. His housemate had never steered him wrong, however, and he knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was, Harry _needed_ to know it.

"Sirius Black is your godfather, Harry."

Harry reeled backwards, gobsmacked, and tried to wrap his head around the concept. Sirius Black, mass murderer, raving lunatic, Lord Voldemort's staunchest supporter, was his _godfather_?

It seemed unfathomable.

"Can you explain that, Neville?"

Neville proceeded to do so, with a voice that shook from anxiety, but with a resolve not to disappoint. Harry wasn't sure how he'd garnered such a loyalty from his fellow Gryffindor, but as he absorbed Neville's explanation, Harry supposed that he had other things to concern himself with.

"I only know all of this because my grandmother told me. She said some other things, implied that she wanted me to tell you, so here I am."

Harry nodded his understanding, and made a mental note to consider that comment later. It seemed he'd had more people in his corner than he'd realised, and neville's grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, was a useful resource, and an even more formidable friend. His grandfather spoke highly of her, and he'd most certainly not disregard what information she had to share.

"Sirius Black was best friends with your dad in Hogwarts.."

The explanation went on, and Harry listened in solemn silence, all the answers to the questions that had plagued him for years provided by his quietest roommate. His family had been targeted by Voldemort, they'd gone into hiding, their location had been given to Voldemort by Sirius Black, whom, shortly after Halloween, killed twelve muggles and a wizard, who'd spent the last twelve years in Azkaban and, finally, who was now determined to hunt Harry down to avenge his fallen lord.

Or so it was understood.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

Harry strained a smile that he didn't feel. "I'm glad I found out at all. Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it, Neville."

Neville's responding smile was sad, but genuine. "What are friends for?"

Neville left then, with an explanation that his grandmother had expected him home some time ago. Totsy transported him from the Mayfair house, and Harry slumped back in his armchair, indisputably numb, and unsure of where he should go, or what he should do, if anything. All he'd learned that day whirled around his head, a disorganised maelstrom, and he closed his eyes to the world, certain he couldn't handle anymore bombshells that day. It was there that he fell asleep, and when he woke, the world seemed a little bit less chaotic, and Harry felt as though he had acquired a small semblance of control.

Yet two more questions still remained, and Harry had the indisputable feeling that they would for some time. Why had Voldemort targeted his family, and why had Sirius Black betrayed them?

**Author's Note:** It's gotten difficult to keep track of what reviews I've replied to, and which ones I haven't. I figure I should just say my thanks here. The reader response is more than I imagined, and I appreciate all of your support.

I was asked if this story would have pairings. As it stands, I have no intention of having thirteen year olds find their life partners, and I've not planned out anything beyond the following summer. That said, I'm a sucker for happy endings, so Harry will probably end up with someone. In sixth year, though, and no earlier. Regarding whom, however, is a question of how the characters develop until that point, and quite frankly, it's too vague to really consider right now. Short answer: it's remaining gen until further notice, but I suppose their will be the occasional fling, or some such. They're teenagers, after all.

Thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed. -t.


	10. Chapter 10

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Note:** A time skip in this chapter.

**Chapter Ten:** _August 31st_

Before Harry knew it, a week had flown by. he'd spent his time alternating between conversations with the portrait of his grandfather, studying the supply of textbooks he'd accumulated since he'd left Privet Drive, listening to Herbert - the Flourish and Blot's store clerk - reminisce about his glory days, and exchanging letters between himself and Justin, Neville or Theo.

The morning before he was scheduled to return to Hogwarts, Harry was settled at Florian Fortescue's ice cream parlour, the book about his family's history in front of him, but his mind elsewhere, on the school year set to start the following day, on the friends he'd hardly heard from all summer, on the possibility of another dangerous year ahead of him. He wanted to believe that a peaceful year was all that awaited him, but the last two years spoke for themselves, and Harry had never been the particularly optimistic sort.

He didn't think he ever had been.

Besides, it was already up for a hectic start, what with his escape from Privet Drive, all that he'd learned since, and the escape of Sirius Black from Azkaban prison, and if Neville was right, and Sirius Black was truly out to get him, than it was only doomed to get worse.

Distracted from his reverie by the sound of his name, Harry glanced around the alley, and caught sight of Hermione and Ron. They were headed towards him from the Leaky Cauldron's end of Diagon Alley, and as they approached, Harry took stock of their appearance with an analytical eye.

France and Egypt, respectively, had been good to them.

Ron had sprouted over the holidays, tall and gangly, with freckles that covered his face and arms like powdered artificial cheese. His lips were pulled into an awkward smile, and in his hands, he held Scabbers, who looked like he'd seen better days.

Beside Ron, Hermione's face was thinner, her hair mildly more controlled. She filled out her shirt slightly more prominently than she had at the end of term, and she'd perhaps grown an inch or so, but otherwise, she looked unchanged. It seemed strange, as though there should have been more physical signs of growth, but then again, perhaps Harry was the only one who'd really changed at all.

When they reached him, Harry was engulfed in a bruising hug from Hermione, whom had begun chattering a mile a minute as soon as she'd gotten within range of him, and seemed not at all inclined to stop anytime soon. He couldn't make sense of what she was saying, but he met Ron's gaze over his shoulder, they shared a commiserating roll of the eyes, and the long-suffering smiles of those used to their friend's ways.

For a moment, Harry almost believed that nothing had changed at all.

And then the moment passed.

"Where have you been?" Hermione questioned once she'd released him, "The headmaster had no idea where you were, you know. He was worried."

"Here, mostly," Harry replied, and he gestured to the bustling alley around them, "Westminster, a little bit, too. And I doubt Dumbledore was that worried, since he didn't try to contact me."

"What were you doing _there_?" Hermione queried, perplexed, as Ron adopted an expression of confusion.

Presumably, he'd never heard of the place. It was strictly non-magical, after all, and none of his children had inherited Arthur Weasley's enthusiasm for all things muggle. In saying that, Harry wasn't particularly surprised by Ron's confusion. He wondered what that said about him, if anything.

"And _of course_ he was worried. He didn't know where you were."

Harry rolled his eyes, and changed the subject. He wasn't interested in getting involved in an argument with Hermione, about Dumbledore no less, because their opinions of authority figures never failed to clash, and their arguments in the past regarding the matter had always been explosive. He doubted it would ever change, because Hermione's faith in authority was unwavering, and Harry had never had any faith to begin with.

"What are you doing here?"

"School supplies," Ron answered dully, "And plus, I want to stop by the Magical Menagerie. Scabbers is sick."

Ron held up his rat, whom indeed, looked ready to keel over. He had bald patches, and seemed to have lost weight, and Harry fleetingly wondered if it had come time for the rodent's next great adventure.

Harry had enough sense not to ask though, because Ron was ridiculously protective over the animal, regardless of what he usually said about the thing.

Instead, he simply nodded his acknowledgement, settled back in his chair, and picked up his book to continue reading. The conversation continued, however, and Harry was polite enough to put the book down, closed in his lap, and the page marked with a clean serviette.

"Mum and Dad also gave me money to buy a pet," Hermione contributed, "So I want to go to the Menagerie as well."

"Do you know what you want?" Harry queried, and his general apathy was curious. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd not seen neither of his friends since June, and their communication had been few and far between, but Harry wasn't particularly inclined to dwell on the matter.

"Either a cat or an owl. I've not quite decided yet. Ron says I should get an owl. What do you think?"

"Owls are good," Harry acknowledged, and the additional smile was all cheek, "But then again, I suppose I'm rather biased."

Harry thought about Athena, the old grey tabby who'd more or less adopted him, and supposed that cats were good too. They beat miniature bulldogs, anyway, and the phantom pain of Ripper biting into his ankle reminded him why he'd never like dogs that failed to reach the height of his knees.

Conversation fell flat after that, and as Hermione and Ron looked between themselves, uncertain and awkward, Harry contemplated the book in his lap. It was truly a heavy monstrosity, some thousand pages thick, bound in maroon leather, the title stylised in gold leaf calligraphy. He'd gotten used to its weight though, a comfort that spoke of family, and home, and of the blood that ran through his veins. It was protected by the family magic he still couldn't fathom, but it made him feel loved, and Harry coveted it.

It was something he'd not be so easily parted with.

"Well, we should head off to the Menagerie now," Hermione announced, "Before the Alley gets crowded."

"See you guys later, then," Harry answered, and Hermione stared at him, unsure of whether or not she should be irritated, or surprised. Beside her, Ron smothered a chuckle.

"You're coming with us, Harry."

Harry looked up from the book he'd reopened, and frowned at the girl. "What for? _I_ don't need to go to the Menagerie."

Hermione frowned, unimpressed. "Because we haven't seen you since June."

"Whatever, hermione," Harry scoffed, "That's poor reasoning, given that we'll be living in the same tower for the next four months."

At the gobsmacked expression on her face, Ron laughed outright, lightly circled her wrist with his hand, and tugged her away to the Menagerie with a wave over his shoulder. Harry watched them leave, sighed to himself, and returned to the book he'd neglected most of the morning.

Harry stared at the pages in front of him, but the words had blurred together, and his mind had wandered again, to the encounter with his two friends just passed, to the communications he shared with Justin, Neville and Theo, to Hogwarts, and the divisions therein.

It seemed like so much had changed in so little time, or as considered earlier, perhaps it was Harry himself who'd changed so drastically. Whatever it was, he couldn't associate the boy he'd been to the person he'd become, and he couldn't correlate Hermione and Ron either. They didn't fit as the best friends of the person he was now, and he no longer needed them as he once had.

It was a bittersweet epiphany, and Harry was unsure what he should do with it.

Brought from his thoughts, again, by the sound of his name, Harry glanced up, and Fred and George smiled at him, bright and carefree, like wild things, or mischief makers. They settled in the seats Ron and Hermione had occupied previously, and made a grand show of congratulating him for the escape from Privet Drive.

"We commend you," Fred declared.

"Two weeks, and the authorities _still_ haven't found you," George added.

"I wasn't aware they wanted to," Harry answered mildly, "And it's not as though I made much effort of hiding to begin with."

"How'd you do it?" George queried. Fred leant in too, eager for his answer.

"Ah, but a wizard never reveals his tricks," Harry jested, and the twins rolled their eyes, unimpressed.

Even the gesture was identical, and Harry spared a moment to marvel.

Fred and George were like a single entity that had been split in the womb. It was no wonder so many people struggled to tell them apart. Harry only could because he'd picked up that Fred was right hand dominant, and George was the opposite, left handed, and as far as Harry knew, he was one of the few individuals who had.

It wasn't a particularly long list, but neither was it short. The twins knew a lot of people though, and Fred had once quietly confided to Harry that the twins sometimes hated the singular, co-dependent identity they'd unwittingly created.

"Give a mate a bone, Harry," Fred entreated.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he relented. He explained that in the last two years, he'd observed that the common wizard took things at face value, so he'd covered up his fringe, he'd provided a fake name, and he'd changed his clothes. Ever since, most everyone hadn't even noticed the nameless, faceless orphan, and Harry had been able to roam as he pleased.

It had been foolproof.

"It's positively genius," George commended, "Kudos, mate."

Harry nodded his acknowledgement of the praise, and chatted idly with the twins until Hermione and Ron returned. They were bickering, Ron with a protective hold on Scabbers, and Hermione with an orange, Garfield looking thing that had eyes only for the sickly rat. It seemed Ron took offence to the predator/prey cat/rat notion, and Hermione seemed to be of the opinion that she couldn't control her cat's instincts. It would make for an explosive term, and Harry sighed to himself at the thought. He just hoped that they didn't feel inclined to drag _him_ into the argument too, because disregarding the fact that he couldn't really care less, he had other priorities these days, and he was no longer so dependent on Ron and Hermione as he had been. Harry just wondered if they'd be so willing to let him go, the boy they called their best friend, but as obstinate as they were, the seeker was doubtful.

He was just as stubborn though, and Harry was sure it was something he could handle just fine.

**Author's Note:** I've been struggling with the transition from summer to school. The next few chapters will be delayed, unless I'm struck by inspiration tonight. Unlikely though, since I'm currently on a Criminal Minds kick, but whatever.

To all you Americans out there, I believe it's Thanksgiving, so Happy holidays. For the rest of you, I assume its business as usual.

Still some concerns about the pairings. Just generally speaking, I'm not a big fan of the Harry slash genre, just because so many of them write him as a female in an effeminate guy's body, and I don't really see him romantically compatible with any of the canon characters beside. Disregarding that, however, I'm not comfortable with writing slash relationships, simply because I have no experience with that myself. That said, I won't be pairing him with Harry or Ginny, just because I don't really think marrying your mother is relevant to someone whose mum died before he could truly remember her.

And if you don't think Hermione and Ginny aren't a parallel to Lily Evans, than please, do explain.

Otherwise, I'm glad you're all interested, and have enjoyed thus far. It's appreciated. -t.


	11. Chapter 11

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Author's Note:** Consider this the start of another arc, though not officially, because I can't keep track of those.

**Chapter Eleven:** _September 1st_

The day before had ended with dinner at the Leaky Cauldron. It had started with Harry smothered in a hug by mrs Weasley, but otherwise, it had been fun, and pleasant, and when he'd not been interrogated on the absence of his glasses by Hermione, Harry had wound up in conversation with Percy about the Saturday classes, because apparently the newest Hogwarts Head Boy had taken them since his own third year, and he had a lot to say about them. He'd also engaged in conversation with the twins, and Ron, and even Ginny briefly, and all in all, Harry had enjoyed himself, and he thought it had been a pleasant way to end his holidays.

Eventually though, mrs Weasley had begun to usher them all to bed, and Harry made his escape before the woman could smother him into staying at the leaky Cauldron too. She wasn't his mother, and bless her heart, he didn't need, nor want, a substitute.

Lily Potter, who'd given up her life for him, had been more than mother enough.

When he woke the next morning, it was to a grey sky, to the promise of a torrential downpour in the near future, and to Totsy nearly in tears. She had packed his trunk meticulously, had laid out a wizard and muggle acceptable outfit of charcoal trousers, lofers, and a button down shirt, had packed Athena in her cage, and had sent Hedwig on her way. It was only eight o'clock, and all that was left for Harry to do was to eat some breakfast, to check out, and to make his way to Kings Cross Station before the Hogwarts Express departed - preferably before he ran the risk of missing it.

_That_ ritual had gotten old fast.

"Are you sure you don't want to keep Athena with you?" Harry asked, and Totsy nodded.

"Pets is being companions for witches and wizards," she insisted, "Not for house elves."

"Then please visit Redridge Hall. I don't want you to be all alone at the Mayfair House."

Totsy conceded, Harry smiled, and he focused on the breakfast she had prepared him. Afterwards though, when it came time for harry to leave, he bent to give his small companion a hug, promised that he'd see her during the winter holidays, and descended the stairs into the common area with his trunk trotting along behind him and his satchel slung across his chest.

The old bartender, whose name he still didn't know, grunted at him as Harry approached, but he paid the man's sour expression no heed. Instead, he handed over his key, and the fee he'd accrued during his stay, thanked the man for his generous hospitality, and exited onto the muggle street he'd arrived on two weeks earlier.

Beside him, his trunk morphed into a muggle suitcase, Harry took hold of the handle with his free hand, and made his way to the underground. He boarded the appropriate train that would take him to Kings Cross, and from there, he navigated his way through the throngs of businessmen, school children, church goers and other such Londoners until he reached the appropriate platform, crossed through the magical barrier, and smiled to himself at the sight of the Hogwarts Express, and the bustling platform as well.

unsurprisingly, the scarlet steam engine was a sight to behold, an aspect of history he couldn't get over for the life of him, and he wondered idly how old it was.

His trunk morphed to it's original form, and Athena yowled to be released from her temporary prison, so without delay, Harry boarded the train, sought out an empty compartment near the back, and once the door was securely closed, he released her, and was entirely unsurprised when she settled herself in the space beside him, closed her eyes, and fell asleep.

As Harry scratched behind Athena's ears, Harry cast his gaze outside his compartment window, and took sight of the families there, gathered to see their loved ones off to school. He was struck by a pang of loneliness, but the feeling faded, and Harry withdrew his family's history book to distract himself.

It was as he read about Elric Potter, an 18th century explorer, that Harry was disturbed by a knock at his compartment door. He closed his book and glanced up to see who'd disturbed his solitude, and Harry smiled, pleased to catch sight of Neville on the other side of the sliding glass. He nodded for his housemate to enter, the timid boy did so, and Neville settled across from him, awkwardly shuffling with his satchel and Trevor, the toad.

The pair exchanged idle small talk for a time, the platform grew more and more crowded, and Harry's book was carefully stowed away in his satchel, exchanged for more childish pursuits, like a game of exploding snap, and braving the bag of Berty Bott's that Neville had provided.

"I wonder what the new Defence Professor will be like," Neville mused.

"Anything's better than Lockehart," Harry answered, and Neville grimaced his agreement.

No doubt, the brown haired Gryffindor could remember quite clearly their disastrous first lesson with the man, memorable as it happened to be, and Harry idly wondered how neville had made it down from the chandelier he'd been strung up on.

Conversation turned to other things, like the summer, and the things Harry had learned therein. It had been a hectic two weeks, and there were times Harry was uncertain of whether or not he could comprehend it all, but he'd made it to September 1st, and he had another three and a half months before his grandfather would teach him more.

"Your not wearing your heir's ring," Neville observed some time later, as the clock neared eleven, and as the train filled up with his fellow classmates.

"Taid said that he doesn't want me to until I'm ready to handle all of the responsibilities of the heir apparent," Harry answered, and a part of him still couldn't believe he was talking about nobility, and familial duties, when only a fortnight ago, he'd been an orphan with very little to his name. "Since there's no Lord Potter at the moment, and the Wizengamot seat remains empty, it would mean I'd take up all the political responsibilities, and honestly, I still feel like this is all just one weird dream."

"Have you started studying 'Nature's nobility'?" Neville queried, a sardonic smile on his face.

"No, but my Taid did make sure it was in my trunk. Why?"

"It's ridiculous, really, but it has a lot of worthwhile information about the pureblood families. For instance, even though Draco Malfoy acts all trumped up on his own superiority, he's descended from Norman peasants, and aside from the money he and his grandfather have acquired, they have no social standing in magical Britain whatsoever."

Harry snorted, and laughed, and wondered briefly why Slytherin House hadn't yet strung him up by his toenails. All the same, he made a mental note to start reading up on the families he'd been told about by his grandfather, and by Theo and Neville himself, because he thought it would do him well to know general information about his peers.

Before their conversation could continue though, their compartment door was slid open, and Hermione stood there, Ron by her side, and an affronted frown on her face.

"Harry, why didn't you travel with us to the station?"

"Because I left early," he answered simply, and Hermione frowned further.

"That was mighty irresponsible of you, Harry, going off on your own."

"If you think arriving in time to get a decent compartment is irresponsible, than sure."

Unable to think up a retort to that, Hermione sat down beside the door in a huff, Ron shuffled to the seat beside Neville, and Athena hissed, her gaze on Scabbers. Harry scratched behind her ears, she settled, and the silence between the four was palpable.

Overhead, the train whistled, smoke billowed onto the platform, and the train began to chug along slowly, it's speed picked up, and before long, King's Cross station was out of sight, London was passing them by, and another summer had been left behind.

It began to rain, and fat, heavy raindrops splashed against the windows. The rain fell as though all the heavens had been opened, a summer time downpour that turned the sky dark, and turned roads to rivers.

He was almost captivated.

"If this weather keeps up, we'll be swimming to Hogwarts." Neville grimaced at the thought, and Harry was inclined to agree.

"At least my trunk's water proof, then," Harry sighed, and Neville chuckled, but conversation fell flat shortly thereafter, and the quartet turned to their own devices to pass the time.

At least until the train began to slow, and eventually stop.

Harry glanced out his window to the Scottish countryside beyond, blanketed in a mass of heavy storm clouds, and a torrential downpour the likes of which he had never seen. The windows had fogged over some time ago, but as he watched, frost seemed to creep in around the edges, the temperature dropped, and he stupidly wondered if it was about to snow.

"What's going on?" Ron queried, and in the dim candlelight, Harry thought he could see the redhead shivering. As he watched, however, the candles spluttered out, the cold grew more pronounced, and Harry thought he heard someone scream.

"It's c-cold," Hermione murmured, and her teeth chattered.

Harry pulled his wand from the holster he'd bought, cast a 'lumos', and in the dim light of his wand, his three companions looked back at him, their eyes bright, uncertain and concerned - perhaps even scared.

Beside him, Athena yowled, burrowed against his side, and Harry felt her shiver.

Harry ended his spell, wiped a hand over the fog covered glass, and squinted into the gloom. The clouds smothered any sunlight brave enough to filter through them, but he could just barely make out the movements of tall strangers in the dark.

"There seem to be… people getting on?" He looked at his friends, bewildered. "Is there a new stop I didn't know about?"

"Don't be stupid, Harry," Hermione chastised, the effect dampened by the fact that her teeth still chattered, "We're in the middle of nowhere."

"Do you have any other ideas, Hermione?" harry retorted, "Because I'd love to hear them."

He raised his wand to the door, cast a locking spell at the glass, and watched as it glowed blue briefly. Then he turned his wand on himself, cast a warming charm, and settled back to wait.

And as he did so, he thought that, once again, he'd heard someone scream.

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the wait. I struggle with transitional chapters, and I didn't want it to simply be a regurgitation of canon. All the same, I appreciate all of your support, and I hope you've enjoyed. -t.


	12. Chapter 12

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twelve:** _September 1st - 2nd_

"What were you saying about swimming to Hogwarts?" harry queried.

Neville grimaced. "Of all the predictions…""

They chuckled mirthlessly.

Harry and Neville were stood on the solitary platform that made up Hogsmeade Station, their attention on the mudslide the road had become. The carriage wheels were a lost cause, and most of the students had returned to the safety within the train, because the wind shrieked like ghouls in the night, and even beneath his layers of clothes, the cold bit into his skin like an onslaught of unrelenting needles. .

The exception, not including Harry and Neville, was 12 of the 24 prefects, the two head students, and the man whom, introduced as Professor Lupin, was their new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

The twelve other prefects were assigned the duty of crowd control inside the train, Hagrid had taken off with the first years some time ago, as had the train staff, and Harry had spent the remaining time on the platform, his gaze on the rain.

That said, there was not much else to see. Night had fallen, and besides that, the rain was so torrential, it would have probably been impossible to see his hand in front of his face were it not for the train lights.

""This is just smashing," Draco Malfoy sniffed from behind them, "Wait until my father hears about this."

"I didn't know Mr Malfoy could control the weather, Draco," Harry returned, and Neville bit down on his knuckles to smother his laugh. His shaking shoulders, however, were undeniable. "But by all means, inform your father. Maybe he can get us to school before sunrise. That is, of course, if your illustrious owl can brave _this_ weather."

Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, but Professor Lupin appeared then, looked reproachfully between the two, and queried, "Is now really the time, gentlemen? I'm sure you've both missed each other dearly throughout the summer, but I guarantee, you have the next four months to exacerbate the house rivalry to your heart's content, and I'd rather not deduct points before the sorting has even begun."

Malfoy sniffed haughtily and stalked back to the train, Neville bent in half, laughing soundlessly, and Harry gave their professor an unabashed grin, but he sobered quickly.

"I was wondering, Professor, do you know if Hogwarts has house elves?"

Lupin looked bemused, but he nodded. "A hundred, I believe."

"They could transport us to Hogwarts," Harry proposed, and the man looked enlightened. He excused himself briefly, and Harry watched him conjure something silver, almost bestial, but it was too quick for Harry to discern, and almost in the blink of an eye, it had disappeared into the black of night.

"What was that?" He queried, and Lupin smiled patiently.

"It's a patronus, mr Potter," he answered, "Generally used to ward off dementors and their side effects, but also a nifty tool to pass along messages, if you know how to use them…"

"They're supposed to be difficult to conjure, aren't they?" Neville enquired, "My Gran says that barely half the Auror Corps can cast a mist, never mind corporeal form."

"The Dowager Lady Longbottom is quite correct," Lupin confirmed, "But after the war, there was very little to be happy about, Lord Voldemort's demise notwithstanding, of course. In fact, that's the first time I've been able to cast one corporeally since - well - I suppose that's a story for another day."

Lupin smiled at them, and the expression was so painfully sad, Harry had to wonder what sorrows lingered in his past. He didn't ask though, because he'd learned tact in the last two years, and it was none of his business, and now wouldn't be the time anyway, and so instead, he pulled the hood of his cloak further over his head, shoved his hands into his robe's opposing sleeves, and mentally thanked Totsy for the water resistant charms she'd imbued into all of his luggage.

A few moments later, a horde of house elves popped onto the station, clad in tea towel togas and the like, and Professor Lupin raised his wand to his throat. The man incanted nothing, but when he spoke, his voice was amplified, and Harry wondered, snarky, if Glasgow had heard him yet.

His spell did the job though, and the twelve Gryffindor second years shuffled out of the train, heads ducked downwards in a vein attempt to avoid the rain. Among them, Ginny Weasley and Colin Creevy, Harry watched as they came to a stop in front of the professor, who gave them each an apologetic smile, and he watched on, bemused, as two of the girls swooned.

Blimey, they were weird.

"You'll be transported to Hogwarts, two at a time, by the house elves. Just hold your hands out, and you'll be warm and dry in only a moment."

Such was the pattern, which meant Harry and Neville were in the Hogwarts entrance hall less than ten minutes later, surrounded by their fellow third year housemates. His jumper, blazer, robe and cloak was somewhat of an overkill in the dawn of September, but it was still cold, and Harry couldn't bring himself to care about social conventions.

After a brief head count by professor McGonagall, they were gestured into the Great Hall, where the ten third years settled at their house table, and proceeded to wile away the time with conversation between themselves.

"Professor Lupin seems an alright bloke," Neville observed. "Better than Lockhart, anyway."

Harry hummed his acknowledgement. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"You don't have an opinion?" Neville queried.

"I don't want to make assumptions," Harry corrected, "I'll wait until classes."

Neville shrugged his concession, glanced up at the enchanted ceiling, and commented, "I'm glad I'm not a first year."

Harry agreed, but before he could say as much, he and Neville were drawn into a conversation with their roommates about the matter of their bathroom schedule, and once Seamus had established that closed bed hangings meant 'do not disturb', and Dean himself had gone silent because he'd laughed himself breathless, Harry turned to the front of the hall, and silently hoped that such a conversation would never be repeated.

Ever.

Up at the staff table, he found that Professor Kettleburn was nowhere in sight, and neither was Professor Lupin - who was likely still ensuring that the upper years made it to the castle. Also absent were Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, likely overseeing the arrival of the first years, and Harry marvelled over how delayed the feast had become.

"You'd think they'd have contingency plans for bad weather," Harry mused, and neville shrugged cluelessly. ."

And still, Herbert's words echoed in his ear, and Harry couldn't forget them if he'd tried.

_Hogwarts hasn't been considered the best school of magic in decades_

"That's the Slytherin seventh years," Neville observed, "First years should be sorted soon."

And true to his word, the first years were shepherded in, the Sorting Hat sang it's song, the 60 students were sorted, and the feast was served without ado. Dinner was had, dessert followed, and after Dumbledore's speech, they were dismissed to their dormitories, and the beds that awaited them there.

"What do you think about this dementor business?" Seamus queried.

"Gran says they're being used because Fudge doesn't want to pay his workers overtime," Neville commented glibly, and Harry thought that the Dowager Lady Longbottom was quite the character.

"Is it still considered a manhunt if the hunters aren't actually men?" Dean pondered. He was summarily ignored.

"I read up on them when I learned that the Ministry of Magic was employing them to find Black," Harry contributed, "If they're as ghastly as I think they are, it's rather dumb to put them around a school. I have to question the judgement of the authorities, really. I mean, they came on the train, didn't they?"

"Yes," Seamus confirmed, "Nearly kissed someone, too. If Professor Lupin hadn't been there…"

They each shivered at the possibilities, and the rest of the walk was spent in a sombre, thoughtful silence.

Gryffindor Tower hadn't changed since June, and Harry found his way into his dormitory without incident. Athena was curled up at the edge of his bed, and he greeted her with a scratch behind her velvet ears, she purred her contentment, and Harry marvelled over how fond he'd grown of the old girl.

"They've put in shelves over our desks," Seamus observed. "Bugger, but I can't put up my Holyhead poster anymore."

"Probably to encourage you to study some more," Dean quipped.

Seamus laughed flatly, and squinted at his friend. "You're a funny bastard, Thomas."

True to Seamus' word, three shelves were set into the wall over their desks, and Harry took the opportunity to fill them with his standardised textbooks, his study journals, and the unused copies that would become his notebooks for class. He felt oddly like an overachiever, but he shook off the insecurity, because the only opinion that mattered was his own, and he'd promised himself in June that he'd be the best wizard he could be, if for nothing else, than to be prepared for Voldemort.

Nothing was going to stop him: not his friends, not his teachers, and most definitely not the peer pressure that surrounded him all over Hogwarts.

Harry wouldn't let it.

Ron, who'd been curiously scanning Harry's textbooks, enquired, "Since when were you doing Runes and Arithmency? I thought you'd chosen Divination and Creatures."

"I changed my electives during the hols," Harry answered, "I figure spell crafting, and warding, and the like would be more useful than reading tea leaves…"

After a moment's consideration, the redhead shrugged. "Your loss, mate."

Unsure of how and why Ron came to that conclusion, and not really interested in finding out the details, Harry shrugged in return, proceeded to finish unpacking, and prepared for bed. Seamus had already collapsed over his covers, and Neville had followed suit shortly thereafter, and as Harry brushed his teeth, he wondered about dental hygiene in the magical world.

"Do you reckon there's a spell?" Harry mused, and Dean shrugged cluelessly.

"I guess so. I've never seen any of them brush their teeth…"

The Potter scion dropped the issue, bade his fellow muggle raised companion a good night, and shuffled back to the dormitory. He clambered into bed, set his alarm, and stared at the ceiling until, finally, he fell asleep.

He dreamt of red like the sunset, a scream, and an unearthly flash of green, and when Harry woke, he was breathless, his heart raced, and he decided that dementors were the worst monsters imaginable. But then Harry collected himself, pushed the memory to the back of his mind, and prepared for his day.


	13. Chapter 13

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Thirteen:** _September 2nd Cont._

After Dobby had somehow framed him for underage magic use, Harry, indignant over the unfair justice, had done an exceeding amount of research about underage magic laws, underage magic in general, and the protections the law provided.

According to Harry's research, it was generally understood that by the age of thirteen, most witches and wizards had control over their magic, and it's output, but in saying that, it was also not unheard of that accidental magic could still occur. It was embarrassing though, like a taint on his own ideals, and therefore, the weakness grated on him, and Harry couldn't help but brood over it.

That was why, when Ron enquired as to the reason why he'd left Privet Drive, he lied.

Mostly.

"I got tired of hearing my relatives badmouth my parents, the disrespectful sods," Harry answered bitterly, and a swell of anger surged to life inside him, reminded of the words spoken by the ignorant, pretentious wankers he called family.

Unconsciously, his expression mirrored his mood, his gaze darkened, a scowl pulled at his lips, and Harry clenched his fork and knife in white knuckled fists.

One day, karma would up and bite the Dursleys in the arse, and Harry would sit back and laugh.

"Gits," Ron acknowledged, and returned to inhaling his breakfast.

Harry took a moment to calm himself, and returned to his own breakfast, and around him, conversations continued uninterrupted. Seamus and Dean were in the midst of their usual football versus quidditch debate, Lavender and Parvati were occupied with the newest gossip to make the Hogwarts grapevine, Fay and Holly were suffering through one of Hermione's longwinded rambles,and Neville was silent, generally an unintelligible corpse until his second cup of tea.

Harry knew this closeness between the ten would fade. The novelty of a new school year would pass, they'd divide into their own little groups, and he wondered where he'd be then, _who_ he'd be, and as Professor McGonagall came to a stop behind Harry himself, he came to the conclusion that no matter what, he would not be the same boy he'd been in years past, when he'd worn his ignorance like a badge of honour, when Ron and Hermione were the only friends he had, and when the world was made up of only Hogwarts, and nothing more.

"Hello, Professor," Hermione greeted, and the rest of them rolled their eyes, too used to the brunette's teacher's pet tendencies to say a word.

"Good morning, Mis Granger," Professor McGonagall returned, "And to the rest of you as well."

Varied responses were offered to their head of house, timetables were distributed, and Professor McGonagall continued on to the fourth years without ado. Harry examined his timetable, and the shear amount of work he'd have was intimidating, if nothing else. Six full days of classes, plus quidditch training, Sundays off, and the four Saturdays allocated to Gryffindor quidditch games. He wondered why that had been permitted, but he supposed the faculty recognised the need to burn off steam before one burned out, and he wasn't going to question it.

"Merlin, it looks painful," Neville observed. Harry glimpsed at his friend's timetable, and it was much like his own, though with the exception of Care of Magical Creatures in place of Arithmency.

"Bet you a galleon we'll be up to our armpits in homework by Sunday," Harry offered.

"I don't take sucker's bets," Neville answered mildly, and they shared commiserating grins.

With a sticking charm, Harry deposited his timetable on the internal cover of his student planner, dropped it into his satchel, and excused himself to retrieve the appropriate books for his morning classes. He'd finished his breakfast, Fay and Holly joined him, and they returned to Gryffindor Tower in an easy, companionable silence.

The Hufflepuffs were already outside of the greenhouses when Harry arrived. He nodded in acknowledgement of Justin's presence, gave him a friendly smile, ignored the rest, and turned to Dean and Seamus, currently in the midst of an enthusiastic explanation about a football game for charity they'd both seen over the summer. Harry had listened to it over the battered radio he'd smuggled into his room at Privet Drive, but he opted not to contribute to the conversation, and instead simply listened to his dorm mates, quietly content to be back among friends.

"Susan Bones is watching you," Neville informed him, "She looks like she's about to cry."

Harry grimaced, avoided the instinct to look, and shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer. He'd slung his robe over his satchel, had foregone his hat and cloak completely, and it was apparent that the only one who'd not altered the uniform was Hermione.

No surprise there, he supposed, though it appeared she'd at least foregone the cloak and hat, which weren't actually mandatory, and he wondered if Hermione would ever want to fit in with her peers. As things were, she stood out in the worst ways, and he wondered if she realised it.

"That's not my problem, Neville," Harry answered, "Maybe it will teach her not to make assumptions on hearsay. I expected better of her, to be honest. She disappointed me last year."

"I think she disappointed _herself_," Neville observed, but Professor Sprout arrived then, and the subject was dropped.

Herbology came and went, and afterwards, Harry made his way back to the castle with Neville, Ron and Hermione, the latter two of whom were occupied with the topic of Crookshanks. Their faces were flushed, and their voices were growing progressively louder, but neither Harry nor Neville made any move to shut them up, because they'd learned in first year that it was safest - for all involved - if they just let the storm pass them by.

"Harry!"

At the sound of her voice, Harry turned, and arched a dark eyebrow at the sight of Susan Bones approaching him. She was very pretty, he noted again, with the lanky limbs of adolescents everywhere, and a nervous smile to match her feelings.

"Miss Bones," he greeted cordially, and she flinched at the implications, "May I help you?"

"Can we talk?" She queried. Her gaze flicked to Neville, Ron and Hermione, who'd stopped to watch her approach, and added, "Alone?"

Harry gestured for his housemates to continue on their way, and though Neville acquiesced with a nod for them both, Ron and Hermione lingered, and it took the combined glares of both Harry and Neville for them to actually leave, but they looked over their shoulders frequently, and their intrusion, well-meaning or not, was irksome.

"You wanted to talk?" Harry probed, and the auburn haired Hufflepuff glanced up from her shoes. Her bright eyes were earnest, her expression more so, and Harry struggled to look away.

"I wanted to apologise, Harry," Susan informed, "Last year, I knew the whole time that what I was doing was wrong, that persecuting you without any evidence but for the circumstantial sort was inexcusable. In saying that, I'm sorry I did it, and I'm sorry that I hurt you in the process. It was dumb, and regardless of the circumstances, it's a mistake I don't intend to repeat. I know better now how my actions can effect others, and despite the situation, I have to thank you for teaching me that lesson. I just… I wish you didn't have to."

Harry nodded slowly, shoved his hands back into his blazer pockets, and mulled over the hufflepuff's words. They were genuine, and she had learned from her mistakes, and Harry could appreciate that she was willing to take fault for her own actions.

"Thank you for apologising," Harry began, and he chose his words carefully, "I think it's admirable that you're err… woman enough to admit you were wrong. I can forgive you, but I… I can't forget, Susan."

She flinched, but she nodded bravely, a teary smile on her face. They began to walk again, headed up the front steps of the castle, and she spoke quietly.

"I guess that's understandable. It's just… it's easy to forget that you're not invincible." She paused thoughtfully, considered her words, and then continued, "That's our own fault - for putting you on a pedestal - but for what it's worth, I'm sorry for that, too."

Harry looked around, took note of the fact that they'd nearly reached the Transfiguration classroom, and stopped Susan before they could round a corner. He was certain that as soon as they did, Ron and Hermione would be all over him like white on rice, and he wanted to finish their conversation before then.

"I'm going to tell you what I told Justin," Harry informed her, and his smile was kind, "You can't apologise for other people's mistakes."

Susan eyed him for a moment, nodded slowly, and smiled. "When did you get to be so smart?"

Harry's returning grin was all cheek, they turned the corner, and he replied, "It's a gift."

The corridor echoed with her laugh, and Harry thought she was the prettiest when she was happy.

As expected, Ron and Hermione approached him as soon as he'd turned the corner, Susan excused herself with a fleeting grimace at the pair, and a small smile at Harry.

"Have a good day, Sue."

"You as well, Harry."

Over her head, against the wall, Neville met Harry's gaze and rolled his eyes at their housemates' actions, Harry grimaced his agreement, and he bade Susan a smile of his own. He watched her retreat to the gaggle of Hufflepuffs on the other side of their classroom door, and turned to Hermione and Ron, expectant. They looked at him with the same expression, and Harry frowned.

"What?"

Ron rolled his eyes, and Hermione looked at him as though he were dense.

"What did Bones want?" Ron probed.

"Nothing much," he shrugged. "She just wanted to talk to me alone."

"But _why_?" Hermione pressed, and Harry frowned further.

"If she wanted you to know, Hermione, than she'd not have minded if you'd stayed. It's not your business. Same goes for you, Ron. Leave it be."

And fortune smiled on him, because before they could pry further, their classroom door was pulled open, a group of Ravenclaw and Slytherin second years filed out, and they were gestured inside only a moment later. Professor McGonagall awaited.

**Author's Note:** To be excused from classes for sporting events is not a foreign concept to me. My secondary school did it year round, for the sports that required it. I decided to use it here, because I feel as though sports is an outlet that the teachers can't deprive their students of. All work and no play leads to a burn out, and in a magical school? I imagine the results could be err… dangerous.

On an unrelated note, I've decided the succeeding titles for the AU universe I've unintentionally created, and in chronological order of school year, they are as followed: Resurrection, Recrimination, Retribution and Revolution. They have summaries too, but I won't share those until postage.

One last thing: 'Resolution' broke 200 reviews and favourites last chapter, and perhaps irrationally, I'm excited. After it had sat in my documents for an excess of six months, I posted the first chapter on a whim in lieu of deleting, and the response is inspiring. I'm glad you all like reading it as much as I like writing it.

My thanks, as always, for your support, and I hope you continue to enjoy. Until next time, -t.

**2nd A/N:** To the guest reviewer who pointed out the absence of capitals in character names, thanks. I hadn't realised I was doing it. When I touch type, I don't even think about which keys I'm pressing…

Perhaps it's time to consider a beta?

To any betas reading, private message me, if you're so inclined to help. -t.


	14. Chapter 14

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Fourteen:** _September 2nd Cont._

After lunch, Harry found himself in front of the Ancient Runes classroom, perplexed to find Hermione there, the nearest to the door. She had her head deep in one of the Professor's assigned textbooks, but he'd seen her take off with Ron only five minutes ago, headed for Divination, so her presence was bewildering. Nevertheless, with her head in a book, Harry knew he'd not get anything out of her now, and so he instead slumped against the wall beside Neville, smirked at Theo, and idly flicked through his pre-reading notes while he waited.

It didn't take long for the Ancient Runes professor to arrive though, and Harry entered the room with no expectations.

He'd learned in his first year, if he did that, there'd be less chance of him being disappointed later.

The classroom, however, was fairly standard, with a chalkboard against one wall, a teacher's desk slightly left of it, and rows of student tables before them. The alphabet for Norse and Egyptian runes were lined up above and below the chalkboard, the same way the English alphabet had been displayed in his primary school classrooms, windows line the wall to the left of the room, and the wall opposite was lined with shelves, on which were texts upon texts of runes of all origins.

The professor herself, a woman by the name of Bathshiba Babbling, was a short, somewhat squat lady, with an absentminded expression, and flyaway hair turned grey. She wore open robes with angel sleeves over a button down blouse and a pencil skirt, a quill was tucked into the bun at the nape of her neck, and ink stains spotted her face, but her eyes were sharp, and she carried a no nonsense demeanour that belied her appearance, and Harry hoped that her class would be as interesting as the woman herself appeared to be.

With a thoughtful hum, Harry dropped into a seat three rows from the front, and two from the windows, retrieved the things he'd need from his satchel, and had just straightened up in his chair when Susan dropped into the empty space beside him, with Justin to her left, and Neville to his own right. Around them, 16 other students in their year settled in the seats offered, and blessedly, Draco Malfoy wasn't among them.

Thank Godric for small favours. Too much exposure to the Slytherin, and Harry would not be able to keep his volcanic temper in check - not when Malfoy was so good at riling him up, the tosser.

"Welcome to Ancient Runes," Professor Babbling greeted, and her voice was surprisingly low, "On your desks, you'll find this term's course outline. Read through it, remember the important dates, and if you have any questions, reserve them for the end of the class. Until the winter holidays, this class' focus will be on Norse runes, but this week, I'll cover the nature of Ancient Runes, their value in our society, and in particular, in modern day magic…"

At the end of the class, with questions answered and their homework assigned, Harry left the classroom, thought over his options, and made his way to the library. Gryffindor Tower would be crowded, and he'd learned from previous years that it was a hellish environment to study in, and the seeker just wanted to stay up to date with his work, to ensure that it didn't all catch up with him in one fell swoop. He really didn't have the time to procrastinate these days.

Therefore, Harry settled at a table on the second floor of the library, in the farthest reaches of the scarcely used Philosophy section, and hunkered down to complete all of the homework he'd been assigned that day. It was mostly worksheets, but Professors Sprout, McGonagall and Babbling had also assigned readings, and it was more tedious than anything else. He'd already read the chapters during the summer, and had taken notes too, but revision had never hurt anyone, and it wasn't as though he had anything pressing to take up his time.

Unfortunately, Professor Binns also happened to have given their first assessment task due in at the end of September, and Harry at least wanted to begin his research, if nothing else, because it wouldn't be the last major essay he'd receive over the semester, and they had an uncanny way of creeping up on him within the blink of an eye.

It was 45 minutes into his History of Magic research when Harry was interrupted, but his homework was completed, and it was nearly dinnertime anyway, so he wasn't particularly ruffled. Instead, he smiled at the sight of Theo, gestured for the Slytherin to take a seat across from him, and chatted idly with the taller boy as he scrawled down the reference details at the bottom of his research notes.

"What do you think of Runes?" Nott queried, "Was it what you expected?"

"I didn't really expect anything, honestly," Harry answered, stacked his borrowed library books into a pile, and returned all of his own to his satchel. "But I enjoyed it, I think. She has a way of…" Harry floundered for words, and then settled for, "She keeps the class interested."

Theo hummed his agreement, but he said nothing, and when Harry looked up from packing up his things, the Slytherin didn't look at him. Instead, he stared at the grain of the desk with brooding intensity, and Harry didn't have to ask: clearly, there was something wrong.

"What happened?"

"Greyback escaped from the vampires," he answered monotonously, "It was apparently a full moon the day he was taken, and he swore revenge on those who captured him."

Of course he had, because the bad guys couldn't stay dead, or captured, or imprisoned, and the Gryffindor had another crazy bastard out for his blood - because two weren't enough already.

Harry couldn't say he was surprised, because it seemed he attracted them like flies to honey, though he wondered if Greyback had any clue of whom had captured him.

It was probably too much to hope that he didn't.

"Great," he deadpanned, "That just made my day."

Not grimaced. "I'm sorry you got involved."

Harry shrugged. "My own choice, but I guess I'd better start preparing. Will you?"

"Yeah," Theo confirmed, "I wanted to ask you if you were interested in learning how to use blades. I mean, wands are great, and all, but sometimes they break, or you lose them, and it's always good to have a back up plan…"

Harry nodded, because his friend's logic was undeniable, but there was also the matter of scheduling, and they'd probably have to organise that before anything else. He'd also wanted to learn how to duel with a wand, formally and not so, but he'd still been considering whom to ask, and currently, his best bet was Professor Flitwick.

After all, it took more than just knowing spells to win a duel.

He brought up the possibility with Theo, who was encouraging, and Harry quietly resigned himself to a year of very little free time to call his own. He didn't mind, really, because idle hands meant idle thoughts, and productivity ensured that he didn't feel Harry was wasting the short time he had until Voldemort inevitably reared his ugly head, or Black came after him, and Greyback too.

"It's half six," Theo observed, "We'd better go to dinner."

Harry acquiesced, and once he'd dropped his borrowed books to the pile of shelf returns, they left the library, and the thoughtful quiet was a far cry from the rambling of Hermione or Ron, and Harry found he preferred it.

"I'll talk to you later," Theo said at the entrance to the Great Hall, and they separated to their respective house tables. Harry sat across from Neville, served himself some roast chicken, and dug in, famished despite the pie and two sandwiches he'd chowed down over lunch, and the apple he'd stored in his bag for afternoon tea. Regardless of his attention on his dinner, however, Harry had become uncomfortably aware of eyes on him, and the sensation wasn't a comforting one.

"Who's staring at me?" hE asked Neville. The lighter haired Gryffindor looked up, cast his gaze around the room, and blanched.

"Dumbledore and Snape," he answered, and Harry grimaced his acknowledgement.

At the end of his first year, the headmaster had been insistent that Harry stay at the Dursleys, and it was likely that he'd not been thrilled to hear Harry had left, what with the blood wards, and all.

Which he still knew little to nothing about, despite his grandfather's insistence that he learn all he could. Fact was, he'd been busier than he'd ever been in his life, and beyond that, Harry figured that he might as well give himself a grounding of Ancient Runes before he started researching the protections on Privet Drive.

Back to the topic at hand, though, Dumbledore would also not be thrilled to hear that Harry had no intention of returning there, but the reality was, Dumbledore had no legal authority over him outside of Hogwarts, and unless that changed, Harry could live wherever he pleased. In any case, he'd just leave again if Dumbledore forced the issue, but since the man had such a passive role in his life thus far, Harry doubted he would do anything but _strongly suggest_ that Harry _heed his advice_.

Which, of course, would not happen.

Not in relation to the matter of Privet Drive, in any case.

No, Harry had seen the last of his relatives, and as Vernon would say, good riddance to bad rubbish.

When he'd finished, Harry returned to Gryffindor Tower with Lavender and Parvati, dropped into an armchair in the common room, and withdrew the journal he'd filled with the spells he intended to learn. It was nearly halfway full, with a page devoted to each spell and the requisite information to know, among them recommendations by his grandfather and a variety of other ancestors, but they were all geared to the purpose of survival, and Harry _would_ learn each and every one of them.

In the face of the truth, in which three different wizards were actively vying for his blood, and regardless of his own fear, Harry could, and would not, do anything less. He owed it to his parents to survive, and more than that, he owed it to them to flourish. And Harry, despite whatever his relatives had said about him, was not a failure.

**Author's Note:** I was asked about my updating schedule. I generally try for a maximum of three days - minimum of 1 - between updates since I'm on holidays, and I'll probably be away in January, but sometimes the muse is uncooperative, and thus far, the longest wait has been about ten days or so.

Question: Is the polygamous relationship theme indicated with the 'HP/multi' tag? I've been uncertain, so I've avoided stories with it, just because I'm, personally, not fond of harems, or whatever. I'd appreciate it if someone could clear that up.

Thank you for your support, and to those of you who've taken the time to point out my mistakes. I was surprised to realise that I'd accidentally not been capitalising character names, but I'm not sure if that was just last chapter, or if it's in all of them. I'll check, but it will probably take me some time to fix.

Hope you've enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.


	15. Chapter 15

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 15:** _September 2nd_

"What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry glanced up from his journal, and found Hermione stood before him, book bag slung over her shoulder, and a curious expression on her face. She seemed more relaxed than earlier in the day, less abrasive, and his shoulders eased at the sight. He'd not been looking forward to another encounter of the demanding, interfering sort, and it appeared that, at least for the rest of the night, he wouldn't have to.

"Nothing important, Hermione," he lied, and settled back in his seat as the girl, beside him, withdrew her Transfiguration homework. "What did you think of Ancient Runes?"

"I enjoyed it," she replied, but just as quickly changed the subject, "Have you done your homework?"

Silently bewildered, because Hermione took every opportunity to wax poetic about things she was interested in, Harry simply nodded, and opted not to pursue the topic of Ancient Runes. Clearly, Hermione wasn't interested in discussing it, and Harry wasn't curious enough to push the issue. She probably had her reasons, and it most likely had something to do with the reason why she was in Ancient Runes, and not in Divination.

"Before dinner, actually."

Hermione blinked back at him, startled, and Harry laughed sheepishly. Her reaction was rather justifiable, given his scholastic attitude in the past, but as she floundered for something to say, Harry opened his journal once again, and returned to his task. Memorisation wasn't his strong suit, but he'd wanted to commit the incantations to memory before he started practising the spells on Sunday, and the process was slow going.

"That's… good for you," Hermione eventually spoke, and when he looked at her, she looked as though her worldview had been irrevocably changed.

"I don't really have the time to put off homework," Harry explained simply.

"Why?" She queried and Harry tilted his head, confused. Then he remembered that the only people who knew he was taking the Saturday classes were Percy, Neville, Professor McGonagall, and any other faculty concerned. He'd not felt inclined to announce it, and no one had asked.

With that in mind, he withdrew his student planner, offered her his timetable, and watched her scan through his schedule, bottom lip tugged between her teeth.

"Why are you taking the Saturday classes?" Hermione queried. "I mean, you laughed about them with Ron last year."

Harry grimaced at the reminder, made a mental note to thank Neville for the shove in the right direction, and shrugged.

"I inherited a lot from my family," he began slowly, "Including a noble title. As the last surviving Potter, there are and will be certain expectations of me, and I don't really feel inclined to disappoint. I have… big shoes to fill."

"A noble title," Hermione repeated dully, "How… when?"

"I found out in August." He shrugged, not really interested in explaining the finer details. Instead, he took back his planner from hermione's lax grip, returned it to his bag, and withdrew the book he'd retrieved from the library in Redridge Hall. It covered the governmental system from its formation within the Court of Avalon, to the modern day Wizengamot, and it had answered a lot of his questions too.

With his copy of 'Nature's Nobility' and his family's history book, it went with him everywhere, but he'd not picked it up in a week or so, and he figured Hermione would appreciate the read through.

"Some governmental history for you," he offered, "It sounds as dull as watching grass grow, but it's really quite interesting. Just give it back when you're done."

Hermione nodded dazedly, ignored her Transfiguration homework, and immersed herself in the book he'd provided. Harry returned to his own project, and for a time, he'd forgotten why he'd been so irritated by Ron and Hermione earlier, but then Ron arrived, insistent on a game of chess, and the pair began to picker, and Harry's aggravation returned.

Rather than take it out on them, however, as he'd realised he had unwittingly been doing for the last three days, Harry retreated to his dormitory, settled at his study desk there, and withdrew his family's history book from his bag. He didn't think he could focus on his spell book if he'd tried - not anymore tonight, at any rate - and with his friends preoccupied, Harry figured he could read up more on Elric Potter, and his adventures over the seven seas.

Before he got the chance, however, his dormitory was invaded by Fred and George, who dropped gracelessly over Harry and Ron's beds, respectively, groaned wearily, and proceeded to inform Harry that O.W.L year was going to be misery, and Oliver expected them all up at the arse crack of dawn, for exercise.

Unsurprised by the early start to their training season, the only thing Harry _was_ surprised about that revelation, was the fact that Oliver, a fourth generation pureblood, had heard of the concept of physical exercise, and more peculiarly, found it necessary for quidditch.

The twins threw out possibilities of what Oliver would have them do, and it became quickly apparent that they had no idea of what they were talking about. Though kind of embarrassing for them, Harry opted to leave them in their ignorance for the night, because the physical hell they'd be in the next morning wasn't something to look forward to, and besides that, he wouldn't deny that the expressions on their faces, when they found out, would be priceless.

As Athena curled up in his lap, and Harry scratched behind her ears, he smiled to himself at the thought, returned his grandfather's book to his satchel, and sat back to observe as the twins' theories, one after another, grew progressively more outlandish as the minutes ticked by. They seemed to have made a game of it, but as the clock struck nine, and his roommates piled in, Fred and George departed, and the door clicked shut behind them.

A paranoid Ron eyed his bed warily, determined to scrutinise every inch of it for spiders, or any other possible presents the twins may have left behind. As he did so, Harry changed for bed, retreated across the hall to brush his teeth, and returned shortly thereafter, unsurprised to find that Seamus had already passed out over his covers, and Neville was not far behind.

Some things, he supposed, would never change.

"What were they doing in here?" Ron queried. "They're a menace. Can't trust them, really. How do I know they haven't put spiders between my sheets?"

Harry answered disinterestedly, the greater majority of his attention on Athena, who seemed to have made something of a nest out of his quidditch robes, and seemed determined to hold onto them. He wouldn't need them in the morning, but the captain would pitch a fit if his uniform was damaged, and Harry would rather avoid a lecture about how Quidditch, and everything related to it, was sacred, and he should treat it all as such.

Once had been enough, thank you very much.

"Did you see them do anything?"

"No," Harry answered, hauled Athena off his clothes, and deposited her on his bed. He gathered up the pile, dropped them into his laundry hamper, and clambered into bed, certain that he'd need all the rest he could get.

The day to follow would be a long, painful one.

"But then, I wasn't looking too closely," he continued. "They mostly just spent their time guessing what Wood has planned for training tomorrow."

"Do you know?"

Harry grimaced. "Nothing pleasant. Night, mate."

"Night." Ron's reply was distracted.

Harry didn't pursue the matter, however. He was likely still certain that the twins had left him a present, and in truth, Harry wouldn't put it past either of them. He was tired though, so he closed his bed curtains, dropped against his pillow, and smiled as Athena curled up beside him. He was asleep shortly thereafter, and for once, his dreams were peaceful.

**Author's Note:** After inadvertently stretching one day over three chapters, I'm going to try and narrow that down to one day per chapter, but I make no promises. Believe me, the short chapter lengths are as annoying to me, as they likely are for you.

I was told in a review that Harry's attitude towards Ron and Hermione implies that he feels they are unworthy of his company. That was not my intention. I hope this chapter addresses that. In my head, he's just irritated by them, and still views them as friends. He just doesn't rely on them nearly so much as he had, nor does he view them as closely as he had the two years prior.

Thanks for all of your support. A great deal of you answered my question about the 'HP/multi' tag, and the greater majority seemed to be of the understanding that they mean a trio, or a quartet(?), and so, since that's not my intention, I've opted not to use it. In any case, there won't be any romance in 'Resolution, so it's not really relevant.

Hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.


	16. Chapter 16

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 16:** _September 3rd _

In the grey light of dawn, Harry met his teammates in the common room, and with an enthusiastic Oliver in the lead, they each trudged down to the grounds, and to the hell that awaited them there.

The air was crisp with the approach of autumn, and alive with the sound of morning birdsong. They gathered around the keeper, who explained what they'd be doing for the next two weeks, and Harry took the opportunity to take in the expressions of his teammates, and he was not disappointed.

True to his prediction, Fred and George's identical expressions of shock and horror were hysterical, and Harry spent the first few minutes of his run chuckling to himself, highly entertained by the spectacle. It didn't take long for him to grow breathless though, because he'd evidently grown out of shape in the two years since he'd last had the odious pleasure of 'Harry Hunting', and his focus eventually fixed onto running, and breathing, and like the chasers and beaters, glaring holes into the back of Wood's skull.

Suffice to say, he had never been more glad for quidditch training to end, and he staggered up to the castle with the three chasers and two beaters, trudged his way up to Gryffindor Tower, and contemplated the possibility of drowning himself in the shower in the time it took for him to clean himself of the sweat and dirt that had accumulated on his run, and the push ups and sit ups that had followed. . Then his mind wandered to the possibility of drowning _Wood_ in the shower, and Harry turned his attention to preparing for his day, certain that the twins were already concocting some sort of dastardly revenge, and just as certain that he would not need to contribute his own brand of suffering for their psychotic captain.

When he emerged from the dormitories, dressed and refreshed, he found Dean and Seamus in the common room, entertaining Lavender and Parvati with a reenactment of some sort. He walked with them to the Great Hall, content to simply listen as the four chatted about nonsensical things, but settled into the space beside Neville when they reached the Gryffindor house table, and dug into a protein and carbohydrate heavy breakfast, famished, and silently grateful for the mandatory health classes he'd had to endure in primary school. He was certain that he'd have no idea what he was doing in terms of diet regiment, otherwise, and he really didn't need a poor diet to counteract the exercise regime Wood had just introduced to them.

"How was training?" Neville queried.

Harry glanced down the table, and was unsurprised to find the twins almost asleep in their breakfast. Further down, the trio of chasers were in similar misery. He pointed them out, Neville grimaced his sympathy, and he probed no further. Instead, they discussed the summer homework Professor Flitwick had assigned in June, and while Fay and Holly contributed with their own opinions, Harry listened quietly, somewhat surprised to find that they were far from the vapid, airhead nature of Lavender and Parvati. Rather, they seemed quite intellectually inclined, but Harry supposed that with a housemate like Hermione, it was easy to be overshadowed by her zeal for academics.

Eventually, eight o'clock drew near, and the quartet got to their feet, excused themselves from the Great Hall, and made their way to their familiar Charms classroom.

Before they arrived, however, they found a group of Gryffindor first years, lost and unable to find their way to Transfiguration.

"You lot go ahead," Harry encouraged, "I'll take them. Just let Flitwick know where I am if I'm late."

They acquiesced, an Harry was left with fifteen impressionable eleven year olds, their eyes wide and guileless.

"To Transfiguration, then," Harry murmured, and began to lead the way there. He pointed out landmarks as he went, told brief anecdotes about his own time as a hopelessly lost first year, and reached the Transfiguration classroom at ten minutes to eight.

"Hi, Professor," he greeted, "A delivery for you. We found them on our way to Charms."

The first years, after thanking him, shuffled into the room, and Professor McGonagall gave him a rare smile. "That was courteous of you, Mr Potter."

Harry's smile was all cheek. "We couldn't have one of them turned into a watch, or a compass."

Her eyes widened briefly, her lips pursed, and she gestured him out the door. "Be gone with you, scamp."

"As you wish," he intoned, departed, and made it to Charms with a few minutes to spare.

With a brief pitstop at the teacher's desk to deposit his summer essay in the crate appropriately labelled 'Summer Homework', Harry settled in the empty seat beside Neville, and withdrew all that he'd need for the class, content to chat idly with Neville as the room filled up with their peers.

When the clock chimed eight, the door was closed, and Professor Flitwick lifted himself onto the stack of books behind his lectern, and cast his gaze across the room. It was structured with tiered seating - likely so they could all see the diminutive Professor, but as Flitwick began his lecture, and Harry began to copy notes off of the blackboard, he supposed it was also so that the Professor could see _them_.

Throughout the class, the Ravenclaws were liberal with their questions about the laws of spell creation, and similarly, hermione, Fay and Holly's enquiries were in-depth and thoughtful. They spanned the entire spectrum of spell creation, from the history, the legalities, patents and technicalities, and Harry made certain to note down everything with exacting detail. He made a note in his student planner to ask Theo for further information, and by the time class was over, Harry was certain he'd not been so interested in Charms since the levitation lesson back in first year.

It was a pleasant change.

Aware that he had Defence Against the Dark Arts in ten minutes, and certain that some of his classmates were watching him as he approached Professor Flitwick's desk, Harry waited for his Charms Professor to acknowledge him, and he was not disappointed.

"May I help you, Mr Potter?" Flitwick enquired.

"Professor," Harry began, and floundered for words, "You know about what's happened these last two years?"

"If you're referring to the Philosopher's Stone and the Chamber of Secrets, then yes, I'm aware."

Harry nodded, carted a hand through his hair, and simply decided to be honest. "I don't want to be caught in another situation like that, Professor. I got lucky - both times - and one day, my luck will run out."

"You want to be able to protect yourself," Flitwick concluded, and Harry supposed that the man hadn't been a Ravenclaw for nothing.

"Yes," Harry confirmed. He paused. "I wanted to ask if you were willing to teach me to duel."

"I wondered when you would," Flitwick acknowledged, "Meet me at the far end of this hall at six o'clock on Saturday evening." He paused, and his dark eyes burned into Harry's with an intensity that was almost startling, "I'm warning you now, Mr Potter, if you are not wholly committed to this, than I will stop these lessons, and I _won't_ start them up again."

Harry, relieved and grateful, nodded vehemently. "Understood, Professor. I won't let you down."

Flitwick's smile was fond. He stretched out a hand, in which was a late pass, and answered, "I'm sure you won't. Now off you get, Professor Lupin has always been a stickler for schedules."

With a nod, and another effusive thanks, Harry legged it across the castle, reached the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom two minutes after half past nine, and apologised to the professor for his tardiness. Accompanied with his apology was the late pass from Professor Flitwick, and with an acknowledging nod, Lupin gestured for Harry to take his seat, and the Gryffindor did so, directly beside Neville, and across the aisle from Theo.

Lupin cleared his throat, looked around the room, and gave a small smile. "As I was saying, you can put your books away. Today's a practical lesson."

The students looked between themselves, simultaneously wary and hopeful. Their first and last Defence practical had been a colossal disaster, and they weren't inclined to repeating the experience.

"If you'll follow me?"The students obeyed, and after a brief, humorous encounter with peeves, Professor Lupin led them into the staff room, where Professor Snape was in the midst of a mug of tea.

Shortly after his departure from the room, with his customary swirl of robes and cloak, they were introduced to the creature called a boggart, and by the end of the class, Harry had decided that, finally, they'd received an honestly decent Defence Professor, who seemed to know his stuff well, and Harry was eager to learn from him.

Even if he _didn't_ let Harry have a turn with the boggart which, although disappointing, wasn't worth sulking over.

He wasn't the only one, after all.

"That was bloody wicked," Ron declared. Beside him, Dean and Seamus animatedly agreed.

"I wonder what we'll do next?" Neville pondered.

They settled in their usual seats within the Astronomy classroom, and Harry was quietly grateful that he'd not have to put up with Astronomy practicals until after the winter holidays. It would be painfully cold, but the midnight classes were awful, and it was always interesting to learn the legends behind the names.

"Fridays are theory lessons," Hermione answered, "I asked him before we left. And he gave us that reading, and those worksheets to be done by then, too."

"If this is third year," Holly began, "I dread to imagine what O.W.L year will be like."

"You read my mind," Harry acknowledged, a grimace on his face.

"Charms is only readings, at least," Fay opined, "And we never get Astronomy homework."

"No," Harry agreed, and added glibly, "We just get ridiculously difficult star charts instead."

The others laughed and groaned in turn. By then, Professor Sinistra had arrived, and Harry withdrew his notebook and quill. Along with History of Magic, it was one of the only classes he'd not done pre-readings for, because Professor Sinistra treated the class like story time, and he had an accompanying book of Greek and Roman mythology to help him familiarise himself with the legends.

Not that it was much of a chore - they were rather quite interesting - though the search for meaning within the stories, entirely irrelevant to Astronomy, but apparently necessary regardless, was a pain in the bum.

Nevertheless, the class ended an hour and a half later, the Gryffindors made their way to lunch, and Harry chowed down on a pair of sandwiches, an apple and an orange with an enthusiasm that surprised him. All the same, he was no longer hungry afterwards, and once he'd stored a pear in his bag for afternoon tea, he slumped against the table, closed his eyes, and contented himself with listening to the conversations around him.

"Tired, mate?" Ron queried.

"A little bit," he answered. "It will be nice not to have to wake up at the arse crack of dawn tomorrow."

"I'll bet," Ron agreed, "It must be nice to play on the quidditch team, though."

Harry hummed noncommittally, not particularly eager to discuss _that_ particular minefield. He'd known for a long time that Ron envied his position on the quidditch team, and Harry doubted that the ginger would appreciate Harry's admission that he appreciated free flying more than anything else, and oftentimes resented the restrictive plays quidditch presented. It was an enjoyable outlet though, a way to work off steam and antagonise Draco Malfoy without the risk of detention, and besides that, he couldn't bring himself to bail on the team he'd come to know so well.

Brought from his reverie by the clatter of cutlery and the scrape of benches, Harry sat up, looked around him, and noted that the students had begun to leave the Great Hall. He checked his watch, saw that it was a quarter past one, and got to his feet.

One more class, and then he was free for the remainder of the afternoon.

**Author's Note:** One more chapter like this, for Arithmency and Potions, and I can continue with the actual plot. It's slightly longer than the last few chapters, but I felt that if I put in any more, it would just seem as though I was dragging things out.

Anyway, 'Resolution' broke 300 reviews, 300 favourites and 500 alerts in the last 24 hours, and all I can really say to that is thank you, like times a million, for all of the support. I'm just kind of gobsmacked that you all enjoy this story that much.

In any case, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for reading. Until next time, -t.


	17. Chapter 17

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Seventeen:** _September 3rd - 4th _

At first glance, Arithmency was like the Maths classes he'd attended in primary school, and then it wasn't, full of strange formulae, numeric clusters and symbols, but Harry enjoyed the challenge regardless. He wouldn't thrive - not as Theo or Susan would - but he understood the material, and he was even vaguely interested in what he could do with that knowledge. Changing spells, creating them from scratch - it was rather extraordinary, and he could understand the appeal to Theo and Susan..

The teacher, a woman by the name of Septima Vector, was interesting, a tall, leggy blonde with a taciturn demeanour, relatively young, and pretty. He thought she appeared out of place in the classroom, but she knew her material, and taught it well, so who was he to protest her presence there?

The topic, spell creation, tied into Professor Flitwick's lecture early that morning, with an emphasis on the process, had most everyone in the class enthralled, and Harry felt that, like Ancient Runes, he'd enjoy Arithmency very much. It wasn't warding, or even enchanting, but it was creating something, and Harry was almost certain that he'd be ceaselessly fascinated by the concept.

Except, honestly? He was ceaselessly fascinated by most everything magic. Arithmency was just another in a long line of topics.

Harry sat beside Susan, withdrew his pre-reading journal, and slowly began to wade his way through the introductory worksheet they'd been assigned. It was all theoretical work until fourth year, but as they'd been tasked with dissecting known spells into their arithmetic form, that didn't mean the subject would be a walk in the park.

In fact, he was rather certain it would be the most difficult subject he'd ever studied.

"That was amazing," Susan declared at the end of class, "I'm going to _adore_ Arithmency."

"I'm more interested in Ancient Runes - and warding - myself," Harry acknowledged, "But I imagine spell creation would be remarkably useful. Numerology though… not so much."

Susan nodded her head in enthusiastic agreement, and began to prattle on about the subject of spell creation all the way to the library. They passed Theo on the way there, Harry flicked a brief, mocking salute in his friend's direction, and continued on his way, and didn't care to consider the inquisition his friend would endure for his actions. It was only Blaise Zabini, after all, and there were probably worse people to be questioned by.

"Why are you so interested in warding?" Susan queried later, situated in the Philosophy section, across from Harry, and with a variety of textbooks, journals, and loose sheets of parchment spread out between them.

"The wards around my house are fascinating," he answered vaguely.

Anyone eavesdropping would assume that he referred to the blood wards that had surrounded Privet Drive, but in all actuality, he meant the wards around Redridge Hall, old, powerful, and sentient enough to recognise him as kin.

He still couldn't get over the feeling that it had provoked in him, of coming _home_.

Privet Drive would, and could, never be home again.

Susan gnawed at her bottom lip, and hesitantly queried, "What house is that?"

Harry flicked his gaze up from his History of Magic research, looked around himself warily, and met Susan's eyes, bright and determined.

"You do know what I'm talking about, don't you?" She queried. "Only, it didn't seem you did these last couple of years, and we all know you were raised by muggles."

"Because I didn't," he answered succinctly, "Neville… pointed me in the right direction."

"Dumbledore didn't tell you," she surmised, and frowned, muttering to herself, "Aunty Amelia will have kittens, to deny the last Potter his legacy, Merlin! What was he thinking? What was _anyone_ thinking?"

"I've wondered that myself," Harry admitted, "I just… don't want to jump to conclusions."

"I understand," Susan acknowledged, "My Aunt has always encouraged me to believe that a person is always 'innocent until proven guilty'." Her expression turned chagrined. "I guess you weren't the only one I failed last year."

Harry would have said something, but her accusations still smarted, and that hurt wasn't going to go away with an apology. He'd forgiven her, certainly, and he could still call her a friend, but he was still uncertain if he could trust her with everything.

But then that raised the questions: who _could_ he trust? And why did he need trust to begin with? Did he expect a betrayal? Did he need people completely loyal to him, and him alone?

Without answers, and uncertain if he wanted them, Harry focused his attention on his Charms homework, worked through it with a methodical sort of efficiency he'd not applied since he'd stopped doing Dudley's homework for him, followed suit with his Defence Against the Dark arts worksheets, and took a break afterwards to eat the pear he'd smuggled into the library.

"Wow, you hellion," Susan teased.

"That's me," he agreed glibly, "Rebel without a cause."

As Susan chuckled and returned to her Transfiguration worksheet, Harry made to start on his Arithmency homework, but Professor Lupin rounded a corner then, blinked bemusedly, and turned to scouring the shelves around them. Harry contemplated the possibility of hiding his pear, figured it was a lost cause anyway, and took a mouthful of it instead.

"Are you interested in Philosophy, Professor?" Susan enquired.

"Quite, Miss Bones," Lupin answered, "I've been hoping to understand the nature of good and evil for a long time."

"And have you found what you've been looking for?" Harry queried, and again, Lupin's smile appeared so terribly sad, or perhaps wistful was the more appropriate term. He collected himself quickly though, and Harry was left wondering if he'd seen it at all.

"Not quite, Mr Potter. I'm sure I will, however. One day."

"Good luck, then, Professor," harry acknowledged, and he returned to his work.

The following morning, Harry woke with a grimace on his face, and it had everything to do with the fact that he had Potions first thing after breakfast. His roommates were similarly sombre, and they might as well have been a funeral march on the way to the Great Hall, but regardless, breakfast was a pleasant enough affair that ended far too quickly, and left the ten Gryffindor third years headed for the dungeons, and the miserable hour and a half ahead.

Typically, the Slytherins were already there, Draco Malfoy with something scathing on his tongue, and of course, Professor Snape nowhere in sight.

The greasy bastard was probably watching from the small slats in the door, the overbearing git.

"About time you got here, Gryffindorks, don't want to risk any more points lost than necessary."

"Were you waiting for us, Draco?" Harry retorted, "I must say, the concern is quite flattering, though one would think you'd have more important things to do with your time. I guess I should just appreciate the gesture as is though, isn't that right, neville?"

"Precisely right," Neville agreed, and Malfoy's complexion turned an alarming shade of red.

The Gryffindors weren't the only students in that corridor to smother their laughter, and Malfoy reached for his wand, teeth bared in an ugly snarl. Before he could shoot off a hex - or something worse - however, Snape appeared, took in the byplay, said nothing, and glowered them all inside.

"Remember to hand in your homework, and do not sit down," Snape instructed, "Line up against the walls. You will have assigned partners for the autumn term." Silkily, perhaps even mockingly, he added, "The headmaster wishes to encourage… inter-house unity."

Without ado, Snape proceeded to split them into pairs, by gender and then random selection, which saw Harry blessedly paired with Theo, and Ron the unfortunate sod stuck with Malfoy.

"This seems like a catastrophe waiting to happen," Theo observed, as Harry set up his cauldron, and as Theo withdrew the ingredients they'd need, "Thomas and Finnigan with Crabbe and Goyle? They'll be lucky if they come out of the classroom with limbs in tact."

"That's not mentioning Ron and Malfoy," Harry answered dully. They met gazes, and grimaced at the possibilities.

Harry withdrew his textbook and journal, scanned through the textbook's copy of instructions, pointed out Snape's intentional differences, and resorted to his own notes to determine which method was more reliable.

"If we did Snape's step two, but the textbook's step six, we should be fine," Harry concluded. Theo took a moment to examine Harry's notes, agreed, and by the end of class, they were one of five potions to come out successful. Dean and Goyle's looked like something from out of a cement mixer, Seamus and Crabbe's was unidentifiable brown sludge, and Ron and malfoy's cauldron had melted beyond repair.

"Least Longbottom didn't explode something," Theo said optimistically.

Harry looked behind them, to where neville looked stupefied, Zabini looked entertained beyond belief, and between them, their cheerful purple concoction bubbled away, apparently flawless despite Neville's past mishaps.

"He looks like he's just had a revelation," Harry observed.

Theo shrugged. "Someone that good at Herbology has to have _some_ skill at Potions. He just had to get over his fear of Snape, first. He probably realised that there's a lot more things scarier than Snape."

Harry conceded the point with a nod, but before their conversation could continue, Snape appeared in front of them, examined their potion, nodded briskly, and continued on his way. The pair packed up their things, ladled their finished product into vials, and left the classroom once they'd been deposited on the teacher's desk.

In truth, harry didn't really care about his Potions grade. Professor Snape was a juvenile bastard who enjoyed getting his petty revenge out on James Potter's son, so the A he'd held since first year meant nothing to him. He had no desire to impress the man, and as far as Harry was concerned, he simply wanted to know enough about Potions to pass the O.W.L exams.

Even then, it wasn't much of a priority, given that Harry was more concerned about survival skills than anything else. It would help to be able to brew healing potions and the like, but it wasn't a necessity, and that would not likely change.

"What have you got now?" Theo queried.

"Herbology," Harry answered, and the pair separated in the Entrance Hall. Harry walked the rest of the way alone, found Justin already at the greenhouses with his fellow Hufflepuffs, and chatted with his friend, and Susan too, until Professor Sprout arrived.

"How are the answers going?" Justin queried, "You haven't actually said."

"I get about five more questions to every answer I find," Harry answered sardonically, "So a mixed bag, I guess."

Justin dropped the conversation there, aware of listening ears and wandering eyes. Instead, they chatted about unimportant things, like quidditch, and classes, and the homework they'd already been assigned. But then his fellow Gryffindors arrived, and Professor Sprout as well, and Harry was willingly dragged away by Dean and Seamus, once more arguing the merits of football versus quidditch.

As he looked back to his two Hufflepuff friends, however, they both smiled and waved, and Harry thought they didn't mind too much.

He was glad.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for your support. 'Resolution' broke 50 thousand hits since the last update, and all the encouragement is inspiring. You guys and girls make me laugh and smile, and in recent weeks, I've really needed it.

I was going to say that most of you seem to agree that growing apart from friends is normal, and then i realised that you probably wouldn't be reading my story if you were opposed to it. I say dumb things sometimes, like the Wood innuendo last chapter. Only one person commented on it though. I'd expected more…

Anyway, I'll probably update before Christmas, but yeah, Happy Holidays, just in case. If you celebrate Christmas, or Hanukkah, or something entirely different, I hope your holidays are full of friends and family and love, and I hope the new year brings you all the best in the world.

And to the lives lost this week, to the children slaughtered by the Taliban, and to the lives lost in the Sydney siege, rest in peace.

Until next time, -t.


	18. Chapter 18

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Eighteen:** _September 6th - 7th_

On Friday afternoon, Harry had a free period in the stead of a third elective, and he took the opportunity to get as much of his weekend homework out of the way as possible. It meant he'd have half of his Potions worksheet to finish on top of whatever he was assigned the following day, but perhaps if Theo didn't kick his arse six ways from Sunday that evening, than he'd finish his Potions later that night.

Susan had joined him, and they'd chatted idly about inconsequential things between worksheets and History of Magic research, but eventually, it came time to meet Theo, and Harry packed up his things, shouldered his bag, bade farewell to the Hufflepuff, and made his way to the classroom they'd set aside for their plans. It was out of the way of student traffic, and Harry, the night before, had taken liberal advantage of the standard cleaning spell - scurgify - to clear it of dust and cobwebs, had levitated old furniture against the blackboard, and had also cleared the windows to allow for some natural lighting.

As he entered shortly after he'd left the library, Harry found his friend fiddling with blocks of wood, transfigured into the likeness of eleven inch twin daggers, and greeted the Slytherin with a small grin.

"Hullo," Theo greeted, "What do you think? First I thought I should teach you how to use a sword, but then I figured that concealment was paramount, and daggers are a lot easier to conceal than swords. That said, if you're interested, I can teach you how to use one during the summer. I figure you're busy enough now…"

"And you'd be right, too," Harry concurred. He deposited his bag on one of the out of the way desks, and continued, "I do wonder how long it will take for me to break down."

"That's what quidditch is there for," Theo answered simply, "To burn off steam, or whatever. Anyway, give these a go."

Theo handed Harry the transfigured daggers, and Harry closed his fingers around the handles, uncertain what he should expect. They were heavy in his hand - more so than should be possible, given the material - but they were strangely well balanced, and Harry thought it would be easy to learn with them.

"Alright, let me just show you how they're held…"

Theo positioned his fingers properly, and once he was satisfied, he began to guide Harry through a series of stances, and despite himself, Harry's arms and legs ached by the end of the session. He felt disappointed in his progress, but THeo's smile was encouraging, and Harry wasn't so disheartened after the show of support.

"Your muscles aren't used to this kind of strain," Theo explained, "You'll have to build up strength through practise and exercise. I hear Wood's got the latter sorted, though."

Harry grimaced at the reminder of the hell Oliver had put them through the morning before, and the burn in his muscles was undeniable. The knowledge that his strength and fitness would improve in time wasn't a comfort, but Oliver was merciless, and something told him Theo probably would be too.

"With interest," Harry confirmed dully. "Practise every day, then?"

"As often you feel is necessary," Theo replied, "Maybe the days you don't have quidditch training?"

"Sure," Harry agreed. He grabbed his satchel, deposited his practise daggers inside it, and followed Theo out of the classroom. "Have you started your Potions worksheet?"

The pair chatted about their homework until they reached the Great Hall, at which point they separated, and headed to their respective house tables. Harry ate his food quickly, excused himself as soon as he'd finished, and jogged his way to Gryffindor tower. He was breathless by the time he reached the Fat Lady, but inside, he was at once accosted by Hermione and Ron, in another row about Crookshanks and Scabbers, and Harry didn't really get the chance to catch his breath before they had pulled him into the argument too.

Exasperated, tired, and disgruntled, and not interested in what either of them had to say, he raised his hands to shut them both up, they fell silent, and he glared briefly between the two.

"I don't really care, quite frankly," Harry informed them, "Scabbers is a rat, Crookshanks is a cat, Ron. It's natural instinct, and you can't blame Hermione for that. On the other hand, Hermione, you do need to contain Crookshanks before he actually _does_ kill someone's pet. Now that I've told you I really don't give a damn, please don't involve me in another one of your rows. You're both my friends, and I _won't_ take sides over something so ridiculous."

He slipped his way passed the onlooking Gryffindors, settled at his study desk, and picked up his Potions homework from where he'd left off. Athena curled up in his lap, and Hedwig hooted at him from where she'd made a perch of his headboard, and Neville entered a few minutes later, a bemused expression on his face.

"You've really stirred up the doxy's nest," Neville commented, and Harry grunted. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes." Harry hesitated, and then continued, "I'm just not used to my new routine yet. The thought of tomorrow makes me feel exhausted, and Saturday hasn't even started yet. I just… really don't need to deal with Ron and Hermione's problems on top of my own."

"That's understandable," Neville acknowledged. "You'll probably be pleased to hear that we don't get homework for Saturday classes. Just one project a month, and it's not always essays. At least, that's what I've heard."

"Percy said something similar. I'm just struggling to believe it. Do you know anything about the professors?"

"No," Neville admitted, "Though I've not really asked, either. I'm afraid that if I knew, I'd be tempted to drop out."

Harry chuckled, returned to his homework, and the silence between them was easy, comfortable, disturbed only by the rustling of papers, the scratch of quills on parchment, and the distant din from the common room below. And so the hours slipped past, curfew fell, and Harry clambered into bed, exhausted after another long day, and uncertain of what the following would bring. He spared a fleeting thought for Ron and Hermione, but the lure of dreams pulled him away, and it was forgotten by morning.

The following day, Harry learned that his Legal Studies, Estate Management, Economics and Deportment classes were predominantly made up of the same bulk of students, a combination of male and female students alike, from all four of the houses, and likely to be as bogged down as Harry felt he already was. Some of them were taking three electives, others participated in more than one extra curricular activity, and yet more were self-studying on top of their schoolwork, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought himself in a room of kindred spirits.

There was twenty of them all told, divided into house groups, dressed in weekend attire, and unwilling to break down the house barriers. Their Deportment Professor, however, would have none of that, and they were divided into groups represented by the four houses, informed that they'd remain in that group until the winter holidays, and she continued quite plainly with a warning that they'd all better learn to get along before long, or risk extra class time to do so.

Harry glanced at his new table mates, his grimace barely suppressed. He'd been grouped with Draco Malfoy, Zacharius Smith, and Michael Corner, perhaps the three most insufferable tossers in their year. His only saving grace was Theo, and even then, that didn't deter from the fact that the next four months of Saturdays would be undiluted hell.

Alas, there wasn't much he could do about it, so while Draco Malfoy argued with the teacher, and threatened the teacher with word that his "father would hear about this," Harry silently resigned himself to a semester of abject misery, and beside him, Theo did the same.

**Author's Note:** Apologies for the update mix up. I initially took it down about thirty seconds after I'd posted it, displeased with the quality, and certain I could make it better. And so I have, marginally, and I hope you enjoy.

If the plot doesn't take a step forward in the next chapter, than God help me, but I might just punch my muse in the metaphorical face.

Anyway, happy holidays, and thank you for your support and encouragement. It's always appreciated. Until next time, -t.


	19. Chapter 19

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Nineteen:** _October 6th_

In between classes, homework, training, private lessons, and the scarce amount of free time he got between everything else, September flew by, and before he knew it, October was upon them. The unseasonably cold autumn brought with it rainstorms that lasted for days, and a castle full of restless students, exasperated teachers, and a great deal of detentions, but Harry, who'd kept his head down, his grades up, and his focus sharp, was unruffled by the weather restrictions.

"What do you think about the concept of evil?"

Theo frowned, set down his novel, and scrutinised Harry's expression.

They were seated on the front steps of the castle, the arched overhang enough cover from the rain beyond. It was mildly chilly, but the castle protected them from the breeze, and he wore three layers over his shirt and trousers besides.

"What brought that up?" Theo queried.

Harry shrugged. "Professor Lupin, actually. I sometimes see him in the Philosophy section. We talk about it sometimes, or he helps me with some spells I'm struggling with."

Two weeks into the term, when it was apparent that Harry hovered at least a semester ahead of his peers, Professor Lupin had assigned him a list of supplemental spells to learn and books to read, and Harry had taken to the material with hearty enthusiasm. The spells, in addition to his duelling lessons with Professor Flitwick, increased his spell repertoire by leaps and bounds, and Harry only wished his progress in Transfiguration, Runes and Arithmency was just as extraordinary.

There was only so many hours in a day, however, and the amount of work they'd been assigned had only increased, and Harry would most definitely not be able to put up with any more additions to his schedule. He'd gotten into a routine though, one that allowed him enough free time and quidditch training not to burn out, and everything else could wait.

"I don't really understand the concepts of 'good' and 'evil'."

"Why is that?" Theo queried.

"Professor Lupin says evil is the complete absence of good. But I don't know, I don't understand: what is evil? Is it a mindset, an idea? I mean, so many people I know are so quick to label Slytherins as evil, but if Professor Lupin is right, than they have no idea what they're talking about."

"I think that's said more out of ignorance and prejudice than anything else," Theo observed, "And I think Professor Lupin is right. I didn't know you were interested in Philosophy."

"I'm not, really," Harry laughed, "It makes me think, but the absence of definitive answers annoys me."

"I get that," Theo acknowledged, picked up his novel once more, but watched, mildly curious, as Harry sliced up an apple with a knife he'd transfigured from a quill. His movements were fluid, almost graceful, and Theo was unsure of what he should be more impressed by: Harry's transfiguration, or the ease in which he cut up his afternoon snack.

He decided not to think about it.

"The Gryffindor and Slytherin quidditch game is coming up," Theo commented, and Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated. Not with Theo, the Slytherin noted, but likely with Oliver Wood, whose crazy had become something of legend in the last two months. Evidently, he was _very_ determined to win the house cup.

"I'm aware." Harry's tone was deadpan, and Theo chuckled, humoured despite himself. "I see how it is - no sympathy for the Gryffindor seeker. Thanks, mate."

"Anytime," Theo replied, "Though it's a wonder none of you have gotten pneumonia yet, what with how often you train in _this_ weather."

The Slytherin gestured to the rain in front of him, a grey sheet of noise like Harry had never seen rain before. It had turned the ground to one giant mud bath, the loch had broken it's banks about a week ago, and the bi-weekly exercises the team suffered through had become something more along the lines of slogging through mud up to their knees for an hour, before the obligatory round of sit ups, push ups, squats and star jumps.

Then there were the Monday and Wednesday afternoon flying sessions, where the team battled with abysmal visibility, strong winds, and the bone deep chill of the ever lerking dementors, and team training had never been more hellish.

Harry was entirely unashamed to admit that he, the chasers, and the twins had taken every opportunity to throw mud in Oliver's face, but as the saying went, whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, and Harry supposed there was worse things he could do with his time than bonding with his quidditch team.

"Angelina makes sure we each get a tablespoon of Pepper Up after every session."

"That'll do it," Theo conceded, checked his watch, and turned to his friend. "It's half past four."

Harry nodded, got to his feet, and helped Theo up directly afterwards. They said their farewells, and Harry retreated up to Gryffindor Tower, changed into the usual tracksuit pants and t-shirt he used for any of his training sessions, and made his way to the abandoned Charms corridor. He walked the familiar route to the duelling chamber, and found Professor Flitwick already there, a new spellbook in hand, and a smile directed at the Gryffindor.

"How was your day, Harry?"

"Not bad, Professor," Harry answered, "Draco Malfoy only insulted my parentage twice today, so I think he's actually starting to like me."

Flitwick chuckled. "Perish the thought, a Malfoy and a Potter _friends_. I never thought I'd live to see the day."

"Let's hope you don't have to," Harry answered, tone droll, "I don't think I can handle any more time spent with him."

Flitwick smiled, but he pursued the conversation no further. "I have another book for you."

"For me?" Harry jested, "You shouldn't have."

Flitwick deposited the heavy tome in Harry's waiting arms, a monstrous, leather bound thing, with silver calligraphy on the spine, and parchment pages yellowed by time.

"_A Compendium of Curses_," Harry read, "By Phalanx Dacios. how interesting."

"Yes," Flitwick agreed, "But also very rare, very valuable, and very, very old."

"And you're trusting me with this?" Harry was humbled, but he was also incredulous. "Professor, I can't accept this."

"You can and you will," Flitwick answered, "You've become one of the most gifted students I've ever had the pleasure to teach, and I have every intention of seeing you survive Tom Riddle. I would trust you with far more than just a dusty old book."

Harry was tempted to point out that the tome he held was far more than just a 'dusty old book', but instead, he nodded solemnly, reverently deposited his most recent acquisition inside his satchel, and joined the head of Ravenclaw house in the duelling ring. It wasn't much, really, a square ten by ten foot square, marked by a line of chalk on the stone floor, but also protected by a host of wards that kept spell fire within the square - among other things - but it was enough for Harry's lessons, and that was all he needed.

"Alright, show me the twelve stances you already know," Professor Flitwick directed, "Eyes closed. I want you to be able to do this form in your sleep by the time term ends."

Harry nodded, withdrew his wand and the transfigured stick he used as a second, and fell into the first stance Professor Flitwick had ever taught him. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began the motions that had become so familiar to him in the last month, practised for an hour every night, almost peaceful in the repetitive motions, and engrained into his muscle memory the same way Theo's blade stances had become.

"Good," Professor Flitwick commended when Harry was done, "Now, _stupefy_."

Harry muttered an oath beneath his breath, sidestepped the spell, and retaliated with a spell of his own, but unsurprisingly, and disappointingly, harry was dropped within three minutes of the first spell, and he glared up at the ceiling, disheartened. Professor Flitwick was going easy on him, and he _still_ couldn't manage five minutes.

"You're getting better," Flitwick encouraged, "In your first session with me, you didn't last ten seconds. Just give it time, Harry. You'll get there. There are no instant results here, as you already know. Not when you have to train your mind, your body, _and_ your magic." He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Now, come on. You've still got twenty more stances to learn and memorise by term's end, and I plan to teach you two more today."

Harry obeyed with a resolute nod, offered a hand for the Charms Professor, and was soundly ignored for his efforts. It was nothing new - he'd learned quickly that the Ravenclaw head of house was a prideful fellow - and so he took his place in the twelfth stance, and waited to be directed as he would.

And so his training session with professor Flitwick came and went. He stopped by the Great Hall for dinner afterwards, Harry retreated back to Gryffindor Tower following his meal, indulged in a long, hot shower, and immersed himself in his homework directly afterwards. His History of Magic had been finished and marked, a bright green 'Outstanding' in the top right corner rewarded for his efforts, but it had since been replaced with another essay, along with several more assessment pieces, but such was the way of school, and at the very least, most of the topics were interesting.

"Hey," Neville greeted, staggering under the weight of an armful of library books, "You alright?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, and watched, mildly curious, as Neville set the stack on his desk. "You?"

A few titles jumped out at him, the supplemental texts he'd bought in Diagon Alley, or retrieved from Redridge Hall, and Harry felt a fleeting moment of guilt for not sharing with his friend. Then he shook himself, because Harry hadn't known Neville had needed such texts, and he had absolutely nothing to feel guilty for.

"I'm alright," Neville answered, and gave him a breathless grin, "Just doing some research for Professor McGonagall's essay."

"Did you take out the entire Transfiguration section to do that?" Harry queried sardonically, and Neville laughed.

"No, but now that you mention it, I'm pretty sure Hermione did."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Harry acknowledged.

He'd not spent time with Hermione or Ron in some weeks, but Harry could safely say he knew them well, and borrowing out an entire section of the library was something he wouldn't put past her. She'd been weird this semester, unduly stressed and perpetually irritable, and though Harry could simply chalk it up to girl problems, Harry was more inclined to believe it had something to do with however she was attending five different electives, despite the fact Runes overlapped with Divination, and Muggle Studies with Arithmency.

Harry didn't know how she managed it, and nor did he pry, because it wasn't any of his business, and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know anyway, but he was mildly concerned with the girl that had been his best friend, and he hoped she was okay.

"What are you working on?" Neville enquired.

"Charms." Harry held up his book of research notes for the subject, "There are a lot of loopholes in the Law of Animation. I've chosen to justify why it's absolutely redundant as a Charms guideline."

Neville eyed his friend, nonplused, and shrugged. "That sounds ridiculously difficult, but each to their own, I guess."

"You don't think I should do it?" Harry queried, hesitant.

Neville startled, and shook his head, no. "That's not what I'm saying at all. I just mean, it's not something I'd choose myself. Professor Flitwick even said that most N.E.W.T level students wouldn't take up that kind of topic. I imagine it would be difficult." He grinned. "But kudos to you for taking up the challenge, mate."

Harry chuckled, shrugged, and returned to his studies with a pleased smile on his face. It was nice to be supported by his friend, even if only in relation to schoolwork. He didn't think it was a feeling he'd ever get used to.


	20. Chapter 20

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty:** _October 31st_

perched on the ledge of an upper level balcony, Harry watched his classmates depart for Hogsmeade village., They were colourful blurs from his vantage point, but they were also the representation of a freedom he'd not been able to attain, and for that, his heart burned with envy.

It was Sunday, October 31st, Halloween, or alternatively, Samhain, and Harry supposed he was grateful for the peace a Hogsmeade weekend provided. He hated Halloween more than any other day in the year, and though most everyone celebrated it, Harry was more inclined to sit, and think, and pay his respects to the parents who'd given up their lives for him. He didn't miss them, not really, but he loved them in his own way, admired them for their courage, and Harry hoped he could make them proud one day.

When all the students headed to the village were out of sight, Harry returned inside the castle, wandered aimlessly for a time, but eventually found his way back to Gryffindor Tower. It wasn't so loud as usual, but the first and second years were as rowdy as ever, and he bypassed the common room for the stairs with a greeting for those who waved, or smiled, or greeted him in turn.

By lunch, he'd made headway into the homework that seemed to have caught up to him despite his efforts, and he made his way to the Great Hall to reward himself. There, he was stuck through an enthusiastic replay of the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match, whereupon which dementors had swarmed the pitch, Harry's broom had broken, and Harry himself had nearly become a splatter on the quidditch field. To add insult to injury, Cedric Diggory had captured the snitch, Gryffindor had lost the game, and Harry had never felt more like a failure.

Suffice to say, it hadn't been a pleasant day, and ever since, Oliver had been training them more rigorously than ever, the chasers were ready to commit premeditated murder, and Harry was pretty sure the twins had tainted Oliver's clothes with itching powder. Harry was just determined not to fail again, and if that meant aerial training for three hours twice a week, than so be it.

Harry eventually made his escape from the cluster of first and second year Gryffindors he'd found himself in company with, began the familiar walk to the duelling room, and was intersected halfway there by Professor Lupin, appearing more haggard and worn than usual. Theo had come to the conclusion that the fellow was a werewolf directly after his first absence, and given the evidence, Harry was inclined to agree. They'd agreed not to pass judgement on him though, because Fenrir Greyback was a special brand of psychotic, and as it was, very few werewolves actually associated with the alpha.

Mostly because the greater majority of werewolves were cursed because of him, and after that reality, it was no surprise their hatred for him ran deep.

Theo's grandfather, Thatius, was one such example, but Theo was generally tight lipped about the matter, and Harry had enough sense not to pry about someone else's family members.

"Hello, Professor," Harry greeted.

"Shouldn't you be at Hogsmeade?" Lupin returned, quizzical frown on his face.

"No, sir," Harry denied, "I didn't get my permission slip signed."

"In that case, would you like to have some tea with me?"

Harry accepted, and he wound up inside the Professor's office, mug of tea in hand, verdant gaze on his surroundings. There were no portraits, but there was a wall full of books, and in the corner, a glass tank sat on an old end table, full of water and seaweed, and a scaly creature with beady black eyes, bone white fingers, and a fanged grin.

"It's a grindylo," Lupin explained, "I'll cover them in your next class.

"It looks ghastly," Harry commented mildly, and Lupin's grin was impish.

"They're rather unfortunate looking, aren't they?"

Harry chatted easily about Lupin's classes thus far, and upon enquiry, the man enlightened Harry on what he could expect for the remainder of the term. The subject transitioned to other matters though, like the nature of good and evil, and the nature of trust and loyalty.

It had sent a shadow into the man's amber gaze, however, and Harry changed the subject when he could, certain to ramble about the spells he'd begun practising in his spare time, and all the while, Lupin listened with a strangely nostalgic smile on his face, his ghosts temporarily forgotten.

"-And so Professor Flitwick said elemental spells would always come in handy, especially when outdoors, because that's when those spells are at the strongest - surrounded by their element, you know? - and so I've learned all I could-"

A firm knock on Lupin's office door interrupted Harry's rambling, and both turned their heads to watch Professor Snape slip in, customary sneer on his face, steaming goblet in hand, and a particularly nasty glare reserved just for the Gryffindor seeker.

harry returned the glare with an artfully guileless expression of his own, certain to avoid direct eye contact with the Slytherin head of house.

harry still couldn't wrap his head around the concept of legilimancy, but it had taken only one moment of eye contact at the beginning of the year for Harry to recognise that Professor Snape was entirely liberal in his use of it on students. Ever since, he'd employed his grandfather's evasion tactics - no eye contact, idle thoughts, among other things - and all the while, he'd begun to spend three nights a week meditating before he went to bed.

And, who'd have thought? It was far easier said than done.

When Professor Snape had left, and the only indication he'd been there was the innocuous looking goblet between he and Lupin, Harry spoke, a rye tilt to his smile.

"Are you sure he didn't poison that?"

Lupin chuckled, picked it up with a grimace, and drained the concoction in three loud swallows. He set the goblet down on the desk, another grimace on his face, and reached for the bowl of chocolate bonbons he kept at the corner of his desk. He offered Harry one, the boy refused, and he chewed slowly.

"The headmaster would be most displeased if a member of staff attempted to kill a colleague."

"You would think so," Harry acknowledged, "But I wonder if he would even notice. He's a busy fellow…"

Lupin sobered, met Harry's gaze with amber eyes, and seemed to look right through the teen. There was no legilimancy probe, however, and Harry supposed it was simply the grave expression on the man's face that left such an effect.

"I can guarantee, Harry, that Headmaster Dumbledore's first priority is, and will always be, Hogwarts."

Harry, not particularly certain he agreed with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, but unwilling to argue the issue, pursed his lips, nodded, and tried to take up his former thread of conversation - namely, elemental charms. The atmosphere was strained and awkward though, and Harry retreated as soon as he could, and as he did so, he couldn't quite shake the feeling of emptiness inside him.

Unwilling to focus on it, and not able to place the sensation anyway, Harry reached the duelling room, sat on the ground, and began to practise the wand movements of the next spell in his growing repertoire. He learned it quickly though, and afterwards, he focused on recalling all of the others he'd learned, determined not to forget them.

Harry was still there when it was time for the Halloween feast, and so he gathered up his things, headed for Gryffindor tower, and changed into his formal uniform. Neville was there when he arrived, and the pair walked to the Great Hall in companionable silence, Harry's thoughts on the conversation he'd had with Lupin, and neville under the impression that his friend brooded over the anniversary of his parents' murder.

"Is everything okay?" Hermione pried. Harry nodded, and returned the enquiry. She nodded, the conversation fell flat, and Harry focused on his dinner, certain that he couldn't screw _that_ up.

And so dinner was had, and dessert afterwards, and the students were dismissed for bed. Harry walked with his housemates, but as soon as they'd reached the corridor outside of Gryffindor Tower, they were met with a congested hallway, confused, scared, or plainly disgruntled students, and an empty portrait that had seen better days.

And Harry couldn't say he was surprised in the slightest.

It was Halloween, after all.

**Author's Note:** Happy New Year. Apologies for the delay. This chapter was difficult to write. It took a few days, and metaphorical 'fresh eyes', but here it is. Enjoy. -t.


	21. Chapter 21

**Resolution**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter Twenty One:** _1st November_

In the Great Hall, as the moon travelled westward over the enchanted ceiling, and as staff and prefects patrolled along the rows of slumbering, or restless, students, Harry threw an arm over his eyes, inhaled deeply, and attempted to organise his thoughts. It was past midnight, he was tired, and Ron's lumberjack snoring was no less irritating than usual, and yet, Harry couldn't sleep, and he'd given up trying some time ago. It was draughty, too, the onset of winter no more obvious than when he only had a sleeping bag between him and the stone floor, and all in all, his Halloween could have ended a whole lot nicer.

Harry was confused, too, and all he could think about was the attempted attack on Gryffindor Tower. it had been confirmed to be the work of Sirius Black, but as his peers conversed in hushed whispers, or slept on without a care in the world, Harry had determined that none of it made sense.

Why had Sirius Black tried to break into Gryffindor Tower?

The entire school had been at the Halloween Feast, and provided that the man was genuinely off his rocker, wouldn't he have attacked the Great Hall? in any case, it didn't make any sense to break into an empty tower…

Beside him, Neville stirred restlessly, punched at the thin pillow they'd each been provided, and grumbled inaudibly under his breath. Harry commiserated, because at least if in Gryffindor Tower, they could wile away their insomnia with something productive, but with that avenue closed to them, all they could do was lie in their sleeping bags, and allow their thoughts to wander. That, however, allowed questions to fester, and before long, Harry had come to the conclusion that he was in need of more answers. Specifically, answers concerning Sirius Black.

He got the impression they'd be hard to find, but with his decision made, Harry found it infinitely easier to fall asleep.

When he came to, it was six o'clock in the morning, the teachers looked haggard, and classes had been cancelled for the morning. Students were directed to their common rooms to clear out the Great Hall, and after he'd showered and dressed, harry beelined his way to the dormitory, and produced 'Nature's Nobility' from his trunk, unsure of what he expected to find within its pages, but also unsure of where else to start.

He could hear the din of his housemates in the common room below, but it was a familiar backdrop to his life in the tower by that point, and Harry hardly spared it a second thought. Instead, he flopped back gracelessly on his bed, opened his wizarding genealogy textbook to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, and proceeded to find nothing relevant to his search. He did learn, however, that Black was the heir apparent to the Black lordship, currently held in proxy by Lucius Malfoy, but assumed to one day be claimed by the tosser's only son, Draco.

And Harry came to the conclusion that could never happen. The blonde Slytherin had only become more insufferable the more time Harry was forced to spend with him, and disregarding the fact that Harry just plainly didn't like the git, that kind of political power in another blood purist's hands was simply a recipe for disaster.

"Oi, what are you doing?"

Harry looked at Neville in the doorway, fresh from a shower, his hair a mess and whatever else, and figured that his housemate was his best bet for a decent answer.

"I need information on Sirius Black," Harry answered, "Where should I start?"

Neville contemplated the question for a time, a curious frown on his face. Then he shrugged, and answered, "Best ask for the trial transcripts, I guess. You could probably ask Susan for help - her aunt's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She has a lot of power within the Ministry of Magic. Probably something you should know, just in case."

Harry nodded his thanks, got to his feet, and contemplated a way to get in touch with Susan. He hadn't the foggiest idea of where the Hufflepuff common room was, beyond the vague notion that it was near the Hogwarts kitchens, but never mind he had no idea where _those_ were either, he figured his best bet was finding a Hufflepuff, and requesting a favour.

On his way to the Entrance Hall, Harry considered what Neville had just told him. He wondered what his friend had been implying, and he paused to consider the possibilities in one of the courtyards. The woman would be a powerful enemy to have, but she'd also be a very useful ally. Harry was still learning the basics of the power structure that governed magical Britain, however, and he didn't have a clue of how to go about arranging an alliance, if there was even a certain protocol at all to follow. He couldn't do that anyway, since he'd still not claimed the family's heirship, never mind the actual inheritance that awaited him when he came of age.

With all of that in mind, it was probably for the best if he maintained his friendship with Susan for now, and _not_ worry about any political manoeuvrings until he had to. Harry still had time, in any case, and he'd already started to branch out of his friendship group, acquainting himself with his friends' friends, and if any of those would result in a boon for him later, than all the better for him, he supposed.

Harry reached the Entrance Hall a few minutes later, looked around the bustling chamber, and took the opportunity to glance into the Great Hall. It had returned to its normal state, and breakfast had been served as well, but Susan wasn't in sight, and he decided to hold off eating until he'd found his wayward friend.

He found Cedric Diggory first, and after a brief inquisition from the older seeker, he was led to the basement, instructed to wait, and rewarded for his efforts when Diggory emerged from a stack of barrels, followed directly after by a distinctly starry eyed Susan, who couldn't wrench her gaze from her fellow Hufflepuff until the prefect had disappeared around the corner, though not before Harry had thanked him for his help, to simply be waved off.

.

"Hi, Harry," she greeted, "Cedric said you needed to talk to me?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, and with a teasing grin, queried, "Are you paying attention, though, or are you secretly hoping that Diggory will return from around the corner?"

Susan's face turned an interesting shade of red, Harry laughed, and once she'd gotten her aggression out of her system, she sobered.

"What can I do for you, Harry?"

"I need to get in touch with your aunt," Harry answered, "I wondered if there was a way I should go about doing that?"

Susan frowned quizzically, but she didn't question him, for which he was grateful. He didn't think he could explain what his instincts were more or less screaming at him, and he didn't even want to try. They didn't make sense to _him_, and simply verbalising it seemed like an effort and a half.

"A letter will do," she answered, "Just address it to Madam Amelia Bones, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, or even at our home, Ivory Tower. She'll get it, either way." She paused. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," Harry answered, smiling briefly, "I just have a favour to ask of her."

She nodded slowly, excused herself to catch up on homework, and Harry retreated back to Gryffindor Tower. He settled himself in his dormitory, withdrew a roll of the important parchment his grandfather had insisted on - vellum, or whatever - and paused before he began to write.

Harry had no idea of what he should say.

He contemplated asking Neville for help, but he'd already asked so much of his friend, and he didn't want to be a burden. And so Harry began to write, figuring that honesty was the best policy in this particular case, and when he was done, he dried the ink, deposited the letter in an envelope sealed by the Potter coat of arms, tied it to Hedwig's talon, and sent her on her way.

In England later that night, Amelia Bones retrieved the letter from the spectacular owl, and the following day, she would learn that there were no trial records for one Sirius Orion Black. She would inform harry Potter of this fact, and then she would brave hell and high water to see the decade old injustice corrected. Black would be found at the beginning of December, he would be tried and found innocent by the 20th, and by Yule, or Christmas Eve, he would be a resident of St Mungo's, recovering from longterm exposure to the dementors of Azkaban, and under the overprotective care of a house elf named Totsy.

**Author's Note:** Is this story over? Um… no. There's still Wormtail, and Greyback, after all. Next chapter's a time skip to December, by the way. Hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.

ps. Sorry for the wait.


	22. interlude 1

**Resolution **

**Disclaimer:** I don't own 'Harry Potter'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

**Interlude:** _December 5th - 15th_

The day Harry learned that Sirius Black had been taken into custody, his trial pending, was the same day Scabbers disappeared. Ron and Hermione argued about it, Ron under the justifiable assumption that Scabbers had been eaten by Crookshanks, and Hermione in vehement denial, but Harry, who was more or less estranged from the pair anyway, had been more preoccupied with the reality that he would finally receive the answers he'd been waiting _ages_ for.

The 'Daily Prophet' had written a front page spread regarding the absolute travesty of justice Sirius Black's trial, or rather, the lack thereof, presented, chock full of quotes from outraged members of the Ancient and Noble house of Black, from members of the Fudge Administration and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, among others, but Harry read none of it.

"Are you pleased?"

Harry shrugged, gaze on the icy surface of the loch. Neville stood beside him, quiet strength and silent companionship. Theo would have occupied himself with disparaging remarks about the Ministry of Magic, Susan would have babbled about whatever came to mind, Justin would have tried to talk him into a debate about football, or movies, or music Harry liked.

I just… want answers."

"Yeah," neville acknowledged, "I don't blame you."

In silence, the two returned to the castle, flushed from the cold and the biting winds. Winter had arrived with a vengeance, drowning the castle in piles and piles of snow until the surroundings were completely awash with white. The nights were frigid, the days weren't much better, but the Gryffindor common room was perpetually warm, and the rest of the castle was more or less tolerable.

Quidditch was out of the question, which meant Harry's schedule had cleared up marginally, but the free time was spent elbows deep in his studies instead. The approach of exams and final projects hung over him like the sword of Damacles, but at the very least, he wasn't the only one stretched thin, and that knowledge somehow made it easier to bear. All the same, he looked forward to the winter holidays, to a reprieve from homework and what have you. The break was still a month away, however, and Harry had no desire to slack off now.

The days passed, and the 13th arrived in a flurry of snow, a chill Harry could feel in his bones, and the unshakeable feeling that things were about to change all over again. He'd received permission from McGonagall to leave school for the public trial, and though Harry had thought it would be awkward to be accompanied by Lupin when things were still tense between them, he found that, instead, they were both too concerned with what would take place that day to worry about the discussion that had strained their quasi friendship in the first place.

-!- -#-

The trial was like watching a train wreck. It was awful, particularly for the Ministry of Magic, because as soon as Sirius Black swore an oath on his magic to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and then proceeded to tell everyone, in exacting detail, about the events of and surrounding October 31st, 1981, there was uproar. The man could still cast a lumos spell, and he'd not dropped dead either, and apparently he was Harry's oath sworn godfather - whatever _that_ meant - so it went without saying that the only crimes he was responsible for was the illegal animagus thing - which, after twelve years, he'd apparently atoned for - and the destruction of private property - namely, the Fat Lady's portrait.

That, of course, raised the question of _why_ he was trying to break into the Gryffindor common room, and when harry had learned that Scabbers was actually Peter Pettigrew, Harry had turned faintly green, but when his other dorm members had found out, he wasn't the only one.

Eventually, as in two days later, Black was found not guilty for the charges laid out against him, of murder, of accessory to murder, of treason, and compensated largely for the _massive_ screw up on the Ministry of Magic's part. They'd also promised to pay any medical fees required to see the Black scion returned to full health, which also saw Sirius court ordered to spend as much time as necessary in St Mungo's hospital for that specific purpose.

Of course, it was said a lot more diplomatically than that, but _that_ didn't stop the 'Daily Prophet' from tearing strips into the former Bagnold administration, and in response, Madam Bones, of the DMLE, had ensured a in-depth enquiry as to how, and why, the oversight had occurred.

After all of that, Harry had returned to school, had thrown himself into his studies, and had tried not to think about how much everything had changed. He'd meet Sirius Black over the winter break, and he'd go from there. Until then, however, he took comfort in the daily grind of life at Hogwarts, and tried not to angst about how dramatic his life had become, because, truly, Harry would probably not have it any other way.

**Author's Note:** This was originally meant to be a chapter, but I really didn't want to write it, and in turn, it really didn't want to be written. Most of you wanted to see the trial or whatever, even though i feel as though that's already been done to death, and so I figured I'd compromise. Plus, I'd forgotten to add the detail about Wormtail, but anyway, that's why this update took so long. Thank you guys for being such a responsive audience(?). Your reviews make my day. Until next time, -t.


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